Les Morts Dansant
by Speaker-to-Customers
Summary: NOT TA-verse! Eilistraee and Vhaeraun are dead, and some of their despairing Drow worshippers flee to another world; Middle Earth. Meanwhile Éomer & Lothiriel's courtship is threatened by a Haradrim plot. When the Drow arrive things become complicated...
1. A fire, a fire

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all the characters from _The Lord of the Rings_ were created by J. R. R. Tolkien and are the property of the Tolkien Estate. Liriel Baenre, Thorn, and Sharlarra appear in the _Starlight and Shadows_ trilogy by Elaine Cunningham. Cierre was created by Ed Greenwood and Jason Carl in the _Dungeons & Dragons: Forgotten Realms_ game accessory '_The Silver Marches_'. The tragic events in Faerûn which inspired this story took place in the _Lady Penitent_ trilogy by Lisa Smedman. The Forgotten Realms and all characters within them are the property of Wizards of the Coast, Inc. and Hasbro. Story title is taken from a song by Magnum; the title of Part One comes from the Snow Patrol song '_If there's a rocket tie me to it_'.

**Part One: A fire, a fire, you can only take what you can carry…**

_I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered_

_But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered…_

Big Country, _In A Big Country_

_I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character._

Martin Luther King

_They did the job they didn't have to do, and they died doing it._

Terry Pratchett, _Night Watch_

None of the travellers on the Great West Road ever paid any attention to the stones that lay a hundred yards or so from the path. Rain and frost had eroded them, some had toppled over, and soil had buried them so that most protruded only a few feet and some had sunk completely beneath the earth. It would take careful examination to work out that they formed a perfect circle. There was nothing to indicate that once they had stood proudly upright, in a clearing in an immense forest of which Fangorn was only a tiny remnant, and had been used to focus a strange power.

No loremaster who now lived in Middle Earth knew that long Ages ago the circle of stones had been a gate, a portal to another world, through which many of the Avari had fled to escape the dominion of Melkor rather than making the Great Journey. None remembered that 'Moriquendi', 'Dark Elves', once had a meaning other than just referring to those who had not gone to Valinor. There had been true Dark Elves in those days but all of them had departed from Middle Earth.

And now, after twenty-five thousand years, some of their descendants were coming back.

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Éomer tried to suppress the groan that sought to rise to his lips. The dreaded moment, it seemed, had come. Prince Imrahil was approaching him with a dark-haired maiden at his side. This would be Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, the girl all his friends and advisors seemed to be conspiring to press upon the new King of Rohan. He had been doing his utmost to avoid her but now, on the eve of the coronation of King Elessar, his luck had run out.

She had been described to him as a girl of great beauty. Her father and brothers might, perhaps, not class as an unbiased source in this matter. Faramir, too, was a relative and could conceivably be stretching the truth. However everyone who spoke of Lothíriel acknowledged her beauty, without exception, and Éomer did not doubt that the girl in question would prove, when he met her, to be physically attractive. She was also, according to all who knew her, a sparkling conversationalist and a graceful and skilled dancer. And she was even, more importantly from a Rohirric point of view, an accomplished horsewoman.

To complete the tale of this paragon's virtues she had been left in charge of Dol Amroth, and the entire province of Belfalas, while her father and brothers were away fighting at the Siege of Minas Tirith. By all accounts she had handled the responsibility with immaculate competence. It was this particular accomplishment that had convinced the advisors from Rohan that Lothíriel of Dol Amroth would make an ideal Queen of the Mark.

And, indeed, she probably would. It was not the prospect of her proving unsuitable that was causing Éomer to dread this meeting; rather the opposite. If the hints dropped by her relatives turned into a formal offer of her hand in marriage it would be exceedingly difficult to refuse. Worse still it would be equally difficult, if not more so, for Lothíriel to refuse such an offer. They could end up trapped into a marriage neither of them wanted. Éomer would end up with an ideal Queen, perhaps, but the circumstances would hardly be conducive to her proving to be an ideal wife.

He focused his gaze on the girl as her father led her toward him. She was approaching with her eyes downcast, making it hard to make out her features or read her expression, but he believed he could make out a pout on her lips. She was not exactly dragging her feet but her posture, he thought, implied that she might share his misgivings about this meeting. Indeed, now he thought about it, he realised that some of his previous attempts to evade encounters with Lothíriel had succeeded with suspicious ease. If she had been making equally strenuous attempts to avoid him it was hardly surprising that he had been successful up to this point.

She was now too close to escape, unless he risked seriously offending Prince Imrahil by simply turning and striding off out of the room, and he would have to make the best of it.

"My Lord Éomer," Prince Imrahil said, speaking far more formally than when they had spoken on the Pellenor Fields and on the march to the Black Gate, "allow me to present my daughter Lothíriel."

"Lady Lothíriel," Éomer acknowledged, bowing his head. He was suddenly struck by a momentary doubt. Was that the correct form of address to use when a king was speaking to a princess? Perhaps he should have checked.

The young woman raised her eyes and brought her face into clear view. She was certainly attractive, Éomer admitted, but no more so than several of the other ladies of Gondor he had encountered. There was a slight kink to the bridge of her nose, as if it had been broken at some time and imperfectly set, a minor flaw in what would otherwise have been perfectly-shaped features. She met his gaze, her clear grey eyes widened slightly, and then a smile came to her lips. Her face seemed to light up and suddenly Éomer understood why she was termed a rare beauty. "Éomer King," she said. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, my Lord."

Éomer heard a muffled snort from her father. An expression of disapproval, perhaps? Lothíriel's smile faded. Had she, as Éomer half suspected, been scheming to avoid him as he had tried to avoid her? And had her father become aware of her plan? It would seem likely. That was not important right now. What Éomer most wanted, just at this moment, was to see her smile again.

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"I did not think there could be so many tears in the entire world as I have cried this past year," Laelryne said. The former Priestess of Eilistraee, once one of the elite Protectors of the Song, dabbed at her eyes with a cloth. "And still more come. I see no end to sadness, no end to pain, and nothing ahead but further despair and desolation."

The wizard Tebolvir, who had been a follower of Vhaeraun before his god's death, sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit on it before speaking. "I know that your – our – Lady's teachings counselled against vengeance," he said, "and, indeed, it would probably be futile in the long run. Yet surely it would, at least, bring some temporary comfort."

Laelryne shook her head. "You are in error about the teachings of Eilistraee," she said. "Vengeance is not forbidden. In a case such as this, when a virtuous warrior maid was despoiled and murdered, Lady Silverhair – were she still alive – would have heartily approved if I had led us forth to hang the scum responsible from tall trees. And I cannot deny that it would bring me a measure of satisfaction to do so. Yet, when it was done, we would be embroiled in a war that we cannot win – and Zar'quiri would still be dead."

"It seems inevitable that such a war will come whatever we do," Tebolvir said. "We are threatened on all sides. The worshippers of Lolth will seek to eliminate us, the Elves see us as irrevocably tainted by Evil and strive to wipe us out, and the humans see no difference between us and the Lolth-worshippers."

"All true, alas, and I know of nowhere we can find a safe haven," Laelryne said.

Tebolvir seemed to develop an intense interest in his fingernails. He opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it again, and returned to his scrutiny of his fingers.

"What is it, Tebolvir?" Laelryne asked. "I would rather you spoke, even to point out some uncomfortable truth, than kept to yourself something I should know. I am no Matron Mother. I do not vent my displeasure on the innocent messenger."

"It is not that," Tebolvir said. "Just – there is a safe haven open to some." He continued to stare at his jet-black hands for a moment and then shifted his gaze to Laelryne's face. Her skin was brown, deep and rich in hue, but decidedly not black. Her hair, however, was as black as a raven's wing. "You could go to the Elves and be welcomed. You are of the Redeemed. By staying with us… are you not devaluing the sacrifice our goddess made?"

Laelryne looked at her arm, frowned, and shook her head. "Redeemed? So it is said. Yet for no virtue of my own but simply because of where my ancestors lived thirteen thousand years ago. I did not even know I was of Miyeritari ancestry until my skin and hair changed colour. Fifteen of us, out of forty-one, have changed. Am I supposed to take them and flee to Rhymanthiin, or to the Moonwood, leaving those of Ilythiiri blood behind to be slaughtered? How could I desert you and be able to live with myself afterwards?"

"I fear we will be slaughtered anyway," Tebolvir said. "If you, and the other Miyeritari, leave then at least some of us will survive."

"Survival without honour would be torment," Laelryne said. "My mind is made up. The others may depart, if they so wish, but I am staying with my people. If only there was somewhere we could all go, somewhere no-one has ever heard of the Drow, where we could live in peace – but there is nowhere like that anywhere in this world."

Tebolvir narrowed his eyes. "Not in this world, perhaps, but that does not mean that there is nowhere at all."

"You know of a way to leave the world?"

"I might," Tebolvir said. "In the forests of the North is a portal that is said to lead to other worlds. The snag is that the secret of determining the exact destination was lost when Illefarn fell. Not all the worlds it leads to are safe. But there may be a way to set some… parameters for the journey."

"To leave the world would be an act of utter desperation," said Laelryne, "but we may not have a choice. With our gods dead, and the Promenade destroyed, there is nothing to tie us here. If you could guarantee that we would reach a place of at least relative safely I would be willing to go." She gave a grim smile. "Breathable air would be an important consideration."

"Agreed, Jabbress," said Tebolvir. "Also edible food, drinkable water, and a temperature that neither freezes nor burns us. If my idea is viable I should be able to ensure all those things and more. I shall consult with my fellow wizards and report back to you."

"Do so," said Laelryne. "It is a faint hope… but perhaps the only hope we have."

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"I hope you were not offended by my reluctance to make your acquaintance, my Lord Éomer. My father and my brothers had made you sound rather… intimidating," Lothíriel explained. "They were full of accounts of you as a mighty warrior, utterly indomitable, almost a force of nature. My brothers, especially Amrothos, delighted in informing me that they had made a point of bringing me to your attention. Apparently they regaled you with exaggerated tales of my… charms. This caused me some embarrassment, as Amrothos no doubt intended, but it also made me rather nervous of meeting you."

"From what I see," Éomer said, "they exaggerated not at all." He shot a glance across the room at her brothers. They were talking amongst themselves and, contrary to what he understood of Gondorian propriety, were very definitely not looking in the direction of their sister. Similarly Prince Imrahil, after introducing Lothíriel, had excused himself and gone off to talk to King Elessar. The conspiracy, it appeared, was progressing.

"You are too kind, my Lord," Lothíriel said, "or else the description they gave you did not match the one they recounted to me. I half expected that at any moment you would arrive at Dol Amroth, astride your mighty charger, determined to carry off the remarkable woman who, in fact, existed only in their tales. You would then either be horribly disappointed, when you saw the real me, or else you would sweep me off to Rohan before I could muster any resistance."

Éomer laughed. "If that was their intention," he revealed, "it had quite the opposite effect. They succeeded only in filling me with an intense desire to avoid at all costs the woman they described."

"They made me sound so horrible?" Lothíriel raised her eyebrows. "That fits neither with what they told me nor with your earlier words."

"I had pictured a lady cold and aloof," Éomer said, "beautiful, no doubt, but strange and intimidating to a simple warrior of Rohan."

Lothíriel's eyebrows climbed higher. "That, my Lord King," she remarked, "sounds more like a description of the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien than one of the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Did your attention waver, perchance, and you missed a change of subject?"

"Hardly," Éomer said. "You match the description perfectly – save for the part about being cold and aloof."

"Oh, I can be cold and aloof when required," Lothíriel assured him. "Indeed, it was my original intention to present such a façade to you, once I could no longer avoid a meeting, in the hope that you would be deterred and would go away."

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "And what changed your mind, my Lady?"

"You seemed… uncertain of yourself for a moment," Lothíriel told him. "It made you seem less formidable and, thus, less frightening. And then I saw something in your face that my father and my brothers had never thought to mention. A warm smile and kind eyes."

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There was no mercy in Laelryne's eyes as she stared at the villagers. "That man," she declared, pointing, "wears Zar'quiri's swords. His guilt is certain."

"I… found them, in the forest," the man claimed. His voice quavered; unsurprisingly, as twenty drow crossbows had swung to aim at him when Laelryne uttered her accusation.

"I do not believe you," Laelryne said. "There is, however, an easy way to tell if you speak truth." She took a few steps across the village square, her eyes trained downward, until she found a patch of the muddy ground which was unmarked by footprints. "Walk across that piece of earth," she commanded.

"I will not," the man said. "You will pretend to recognize my footprints as matching ones made by those who slew the other drow and will use that as a pretext to slay me."

"I seek only justice," Laelryne said, "and to slay one who was not involved in her rape and murder would not be just. If you are innocent you have nothing to fear."

"So you say," the man said, "but all drow are killers and liars."

Up to this point the villagers had been cowed into silence by the bright swords and levelled crossbows of the grim-faced drow warriors, but now a voice cried out from the crowd; a woman's voice, sounding filled with anguish.

"Rape? You told me you had slain a drow raider in the woods. You lay with another woman, and by force? How could you betray me so?"

"Silence, woman!" the accused man growled. "She lies. You have fallen victim to her trickery and sent me to my doom."

"No, she does not lie," a male voice spoke. A man in studded leather armour stepped forward and left the ranks of the villagers. "We committed that black deed; Wittegar there, and Tobin, and me. The shame of it eats at my heart. I will face my punishment."

"Traitor!" a third man spat out, no doubt the 'Tobin' named in the confession, and he drew a dagger and rushed out to attack the man who had given him away.

Tebolvir unleashed a volley of Magic Missiles and dropped Tobin in his tracks. Laelryne glanced briefly at the fallen man, as he writhed in agony on the ground, and then turned back to Wittegar. "Take him and hang him," she ordered her followers.

"You can't do that!" Wittegar protested. He backed away as three drow, one bearing a length of rope ending in a noose, approached. His hands went to the swords at his hips. "I demand trial by combat!" he yelled.

Laelryne shrugged her shoulders. "Very well," she agreed. She drew her own sword from the scabbard strapped across her back. "That will save us time and trouble. Kill me and you go free."

"I… uh?" Wittegar halted his retreat. To judge by the expression on his face he had been caught totally by surprise by her assent to his request; he had, no doubt, been clutching at the only possible straw. "You swear it?"

"I do," Laelryne replied. So much, she thought, for his statement that all drow were liars; what would be the point of his request if it was what he truly believed? "If he kills me, let him go." She raised her shield arm, brought her sword to the guard position, and waited.

"Right," Wittegar said. "That's more like it." He drew both swords and faced Laelryne. "This won't take long," he said.

"True," said Laelryne. She studied her opponent. He wore a steel back-and-breast, a decent compromise between protection and weight, but leaving some vital areas unprotected; a fair match for her lightweight hauberk of mithral chain-mail. Laelryne bore only the one sword, a straight blade with a hand-and-a-half hilt, and wore a small shield strapped to her left arm.

Wittegar towered over Laelryne, who was barely an inch over five feet tall, and his advantage in strength and reach was obvious. His footwork as he advanced showed him to be an experienced fighter and his victory must have seemed a foregone conclusion to the human onlookers. Once in range he delivered a cautious, exploratory, thrust to feel out his opponent.

Laelryne killed him. She withdrew her sword as he fell to the ground, walked to the man called Tobin who had been incapacitated by Magic Missiles, and cut off his head. She wiped her blade clean on the dead man's clothing and returned it to its scabbard.

"You may go free," she told the man who had admitted his crime. "You confessed your guilt and show repentance. These two deaths will suffice."

He did not reply at once. He stood unmoving, mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. The villagers were equally stunned into silence.

"Retrieve Zar'quiri's swords," Laelryne ordered the three who had been ready to carry out the hanging, "and let us depart from this place."

"H… How did you do that?" the man who had confessed gasped out, recovering somewhat from his shock. "You didn't even move fast."

"I have been a warrior priestess of Eilistraee for over two hundred years," Laelryne told him, "and she is – was – the goddess of swordplay. I have fought in hundreds – nay, thousands – of such duels."

The man nodded his head, frowned and bit on his lip, and then spoke again. "The Flaming Fist will come after you for these deeds," he warned her. "They do not tolerate anyone but themselves dealing out justice and are likely to call this murder."

"Let them," Laelryne said. "We are leaving, not only this forest, but Faerûn. We sail to Evermeet." One truth and one lie. If her words were passed on then anyone pursuing them would assume they had headed west, to the busy seaport of Baldur's Gate, but their true course led to the north.

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"Tomorrow I return to my lands in the North," Éomer reminded Lothíriel. It was a week since their first meeting and during that week Éomer had taken every possible opportunity to have further conversations with this… enchanting princess. To think that he had avoided her for as long as possible! So much time wasted…

"Indeed so," Lothíriel said. "No doubt, though, you will return to visit Gondor again. In the not too distant future, I hope."

"It will be, I fear, longer than I would like," Éomer said, "for there will be much to do in Rohan upon my return." He paused and gathered his courage. Lothíriel certainly seemed to find his company as agreeable as he found hers but, perhaps, this was her diplomatic upbringing showing through. "I would like to invite you to visit Edoras. Subject to your father's agreement, of course."

Lothíriel's face lit up. "I would like that very much, my Lord Éomer," she said. "And I am sure my father will give his assent. There are no pressing matters to keep me here, or to require my return to Dol Amroth, at present. It could be soon, I believe, if you so wish."

Éomer gave her an answering smile. "I do so wish. I shall speak to your father shortly."

"Of course one or more of my brothers would have to accompany me," Lothíriel went on.

"Of course," Éomer said, nodding. "I would be delighted to have their company. We became good comrades on the march to the Morannon and the return."

"During which time they entertained you with exaggerated tales of my alleged good qualities," Lothíriel said. "I am glad that you were not too disappointed with the reality."

"The reality quite outshines their tales," Éomer assured her.

"You flatter me, my Lord King," Lothíriel said. "My brothers were too busy telling me of your deeds, such as strangling mûmakil with your bare hands, to warn me of your silver tongue."

"They told you what? No man could accomplish such a feat," Éomer said.

"I may perhaps be exaggerating their exaggerations," Lothíriel confessed, a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her lips, "but in truth it was your battle prowess on which their description dwelt. It may not have been their intention but, as I told you at our first meeting, they made you seem the very model of a wild barbarian warlord. The reality was a pleasant surprise."

"I am glad that you think so," Éomer said. A frown crossed his brow. "I hope that Edoras will not be too big a disappointment to you. It lacks some of the amenities of Minas Tirith, I fear, and you may find it to be rather unsophisticated – even, one might say, barbaric."

"I am no sheltered flower who recoils in horror when the surroundings are not sufficiently luxurious," Lothíriel said. "I have made voyages on ships. They are not overly endowed with amenities and I coped well enough. And now that I know you, and have met your sister and the Marshalls and Captains of the Mark, I have no fear that Rohan is a land of barbarians."

"Indeed it is not," Éomer said, "but there are those who might think so. Saruman said 'What is the House of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek?' There are times, as I observe the splendours of Gondor, when I cannot help but feel as if there was an element of truth in his words."

"Words spoken with malice by a traitor," Lothíriel said. "Pay no heed to such venomous slander."

"Yet it is true that we are less… civilised than Gondor," Éomer said. "There are, for instance, few books in Rohan, a mere handful compared with the great libraries of Minas Tirith, for my people's culture and knowledge is preserved instead in song and the spoken word."

"The explanation, no doubt, for your silver tongue," Lothíriel said, eyes twinkling.

"I have never thought of myself as one particularly gifted in the use of words," Éomer said. "I was taught to read and write, true, but my skills are mainly in riding and the use of sword and lance."

"Perhaps, then," Lothíriel said, smiling, "my brothers were not so far wrong in their description. If your skill at swordplay exceeds your skill with words you must be a formidable warrior indeed."

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Laelryne cast her eyes over the three adventurers. Thorn, the elven swordswoman who had once served as Champion of Eilistraee, a lethal warrior; Sharlarra, the thief, a vivacious red-haired elf girl with eyes of an unusual violet hue; and Liriel Baenre.

It was difficult to believe that Liriel, tiny even by drow standards and not even sixty years old, could be the most powerful drow wizard on the surface world. Hard to believe, but true; of course her father, Gromph Baenre, was the Archmage of Menzoberranzan and quite possibly the greatest drow wizard in all of Faerûn. Liriel had inherited his talent for magic, although she had not yet acquired more than a fraction of his vast knowledge, and that was why Laelryne had sought Liriel out.

The diminutive wizard listened, intently, as Tebolvir explained the purpose of their visit. When he finished Liriel shook her head. "I might be regarded as something of an expert on portals," she said, "but my experience is only with travel between places on this world. My father's Book of Portals, from which most of my knowledge is drawn, does not deal with portals to other worlds. Even if I was willing to help I doubt if there is much that I could do."

"Even if you were willing?" Laelryne queried. "Then you are not?"

Liriel shrugged. "Vhaeraun's worshippers tried to kill me, many times," she said, "and the followers of Eilistraee cast me out. Qilué rejected me and Iljrene called me 'that Lolth-loving bitch'. Why should I help you?"

"Qilué and Iljrene are dead," Laelryne said. "I was merely a subordinate under Iljrene's command, at the time of your visit to the Promenade, and I exchanged barely a couple of words with you. I don't know what decisions I would have made if I had been in a position of command at that time. But I know, from your actions since then and from the fact that Thorn trusts you, that you are a good person. Too good, I believe, to withhold aid from those who need it. Eilistraee and Vhaeraun are dead, leaving us to the doubtful mercies of Lolth, and all that they stood for died with them. Our home has been destroyed and our leaders slain. I appeal to you simply as one Drow to another. We no longer wish to stay in this world of bitter grief and futile struggle. Help us."

Liriel sucked in her lower lip and frowned. She was silent for a moment, staring into the fire, and then she raised her head and spoke. "Did you know that Viconia De'Vir is dead?" she asked.

"I had not heard," Laelryne replied. "What happened?"

"She transformed, as you have done," Liriel answered, "and Shar withdrew her protection. Lolth sent a contingent of yochlols to slay Viconia."

"I am saddened to hear it," Laelryne said, "but I must confess I fail to see the relevance."

"She was, like me," Liriel said, "an exile who trod her own path, and associated mainly with surfacers, instead of following Eilistraee or Vhaeraun. I did not know her well, in fact I met her only twice, but with her gone I feel… more alone." She shuddered. "There seems to be something wrong with the world. As if… a path that could have been taken was not, and now the road ahead is one of strife and misery."

Laelryne drew in her breath sharply. "That is exactly what I sense," she said. "There is nothing here for us any longer. I suggest that, not only do you help us leave, but that you come with us."

Liriel pursed her lips, frowned briefly, and then turned to her companions. "What say you, Thorn? Sharlarra?"

Thorn narrowed her eyes. "It is true that this is a time of tragedy," she said, "but there have been dark times in the past and the Elves and the humans have always made it through. I think that to abandon the world, in the company of people we barely know, would be foolish at this time."

"I agree," Sharlarra said. "Out of the frying pan into the fire, as they say. However, Liriel, I think that you should help them. They did, after all, ask nicely."

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"Is it your intention, Éomer King, to ask the hand of my daughter in marriage?" Prince Imrahil fixed Éomer with a piercing stare.

"It is certainly a matter to which I am giving serious consideration," Éomer replied, speaking as formally as he knew how. "Your daughter is both beautiful and worthy. Yet I do not feel that I can make such an offer before I am sure that she could be content in the Mark."

"Well, it is a long way from the sea," Imrahil said, "but she is not quite as obsessed with boats as she used to be, since the boom smacked her in the face and broke her nose."

Éomer's lips tightened and his brows lowered. "Who is 'the Boom'?" he asked, his voice almost a growl. The thought of someone daring to strike and injure Lothíriel filled him with the desire to break the miscreant apart with his bare hands.

Imrahil's forehead creased. "Who?" he echoed, his tone indicating baffled incomprehension.

Éomer was puzzled in his turn but assumed that he had misheard Imrahil – 'the Boom' would be a very odd title, after all – and that Imrahil had therefore misunderstood him in turn. "Who struck Princess Lothíriel in the face?" he clarified.

"No-one," Imrahil answered, incomprehension still written all over his face, and then his brow cleared. "Oh, I see," he said. "You are unfamiliar with nautical terms. A boom is a spar – a pole, that is – fastened along the bottom of a sail to keep it straight. It can swing when the wind changes direction. On one occasion, sailing out on the bay, Lothíriel was absorbed in watching a nearby dolphin disporting itself and she neglected to pay heed to the boom. It swung and caught her in the face. Luckily the injury was minor, although the traces can still be seen if one looks closely, and she has been more attentive to her immediate surroundings since then."

"Ah, I see," Éomer said, relaxing muscles that had tensed without his conscious bidding. "I misunderstood."

"Anyway," Imrahil went on, "I will grant my approval to your suggestion that Lothíriel should pay a visit to your home in the near future. Of course she shall be accompanied by at least two of her brothers. Erchirion and Amrothos, I think; Elphir has duties that will keep him in Dol Amroth."

"Of course," Éomer agreed.

"I am not sure of the necessity," Imrahil said, "but it will do no harm."

Éomer was confused for a moment, thinking that Imrahil was querying the necessity of Lothíriel's brothers acting as chaperones despite it being his own suggestion, but then realised that Imrahil was actually referring to the need for Lothíriel to visit Rohan before there was any formal offer of marriage. "It is more important than you might think," Éomer explained. "My grandfather, King Thengel, married a Gondorean lady. Morwen of Lossarnach."

Imrahil nodded. "A kinswoman of mine," he said.

"They lived in Gondor until Thengel was recalled to take the throne upon the death of King Fengel," Éomer went on, "and it is said that Queen Morwen was never content in Rohan, and that she pined for her homeland. When Thengel died she returned to Gondor. She is… not remembered with fondness in Rohan. I would not want to find that Lothíriel, similarly, was discontented, even unhappy, in Rohan."

And it would give Éomer a chance to see Lothíriel in different circumstances; thus far they had met only in the environs of the Court, in pleasant surroundings, and on their best behaviour. He did not think that she would turn into a shrew upon suffering minor discomfort, from everything he had seen he would judge that her humour and her sweet nature were far more than skin deep, but if he was wrong it would be advisable to discover his error before things reached the stage of betrothal.

"That is… sensible," Imrahil said. "I suggest that Lothíriel, and her brothers and an escort of Swan Knights, travel in company with one of the convoys of provisions." Rohan, devastated by Saruman's pillaging forces, would have been in dire straits and facing mass starvation had Gondor not agreed to provide unstinting aid. "Next month, I think, if that is acceptable."

Éomer managed to restrain himself from heaving a sigh of relief. He had half expected Imrahil to have suggested a date several months in the future, even next year, and such a long separation from the girl who was in the process of capturing his heart would have been hard to bear. "I shall look forward to her visit."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"I have good news," Liriel reported to Laelryne. "I have discovered where we can find the necessary rituals to ensure that your journey takes you to a… compatible environment."

Laelryne heaved a sigh. "That is good news indeed," she said. "I would like to depart with the minimum possible delay. The Greycloaks regard us with suspicion and I fear that the slightest wrong move, on either side, may result in conflict. We have already fought one skirmish against members of Eldreth Veluuthra and they will, inevitably, attack us again. And recently I have learned that the drow of Rilauven know that we are here and may be planning to move against us."

"I don't think you need worry about Rilauven," Liriel said. "Apparently the city has been wracked by civil war and I doubt if they're in any shape to look for trouble elsewhere. And they'd have to fight the Greycloaks if they sent an expedition to attack you in Neverwinter territory."

"Perhaps," Laelryne said, "but it would be best if we simply departed at once."

"Ah," Liriel said, "now we come to the news that is… not so good."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," the diminutive drow wizard explained, "We need a tome called 'The Rituals of Shaundakul'. Getting it might be a little… tricky. My father had a copy, I remember, but obtaining it from Menzoberranzan would be highly dangerous bordering on impossible."

"Are there no copies on the surface?" Laelryne asked.

"Certainly there are," Liriel said. "It's a human book. It's just rather rare, and quite precious, and although the teachings of Shaundakul encourage the free propagation of knowledge that particular book could be… dangerous. You intend to open a portal so that you, and your followers, can travel from Faerûn to another world with a benign environment. However it would be possible to do the reverse. To open a portal so that something from somewhere hostile could travel here."

"There are plenty of other ways to do that," Laelryne said. "Indeed there have been so many extra-dimensional invaders lately that it's hard to keep count. The King of Shadows, the Shadovar, the Daemonfey…"

"I know, I know," said Liriel, "and if I'd seen any danger in you having the tome I would never have mentioned it. I only mean that the owners of copies tend to keep them to themselves."

"We are not short of gold with which to pay," Laelryne said, "and, after all, we only need the book for a single occasion."

"Gold may not be enough," Liriel said, "but I am sure that Sharlarra will be able to obtain a copy for you. There may be one in the Neverwinter archives. If not then she knows where she can get one in Waterdeep. It will, however, take time."

"How long?"

"If there is a copy in Neverwinter, and if Sharlarra can… acquire… it, then within a ten-day," Liriel said. "If she has to go to Waterdeep, and then use her powers of persuasion on whoever inherited the possessions of Khelben Blackstaff, then at least a month. If all else fails there will, no doubt, be a copy in Candlekeep. However the Librarians would never part with it and so you would have to go there yourself. But I don't think it will come to that."

"I suppose it cannot be helped and thus must be endured," Laelryne said. "Well, at least it will give me ample time to prepare for our departure and make sure we have everything we might need." She paused and clenched her teeth tightly together for a moment. "Unfortunately it also means more time in which things might go wrong. And in which our foes might move against us."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Haradrim?" Éomer frowned at Erkenbrand. "Are you sure? How could enemies have crossed all the lands of Gondor undetected?"

"I don't think they did," the Marshall replied. "I believe that they have been here all along. Survivors of the Pelennor Fields, a pitiful remnant who fled in the wrong direction, and who have hidden in the wilds ever since."

"But that was months ago! Surely they couldn't have kept their presence secret for so long."

Erkenbrand grimaced. "There are swathes of the country uninhabited now, where Saruman's hordes ravaged the Mark, and fewer Riders than before to patrol our bounds. The Haradrim have taken great pains to stay unobserved despite the privations they must be enduring. If they have raided our people for supplies it can only have been the smallest, most isolated, hamlets and farmsteads – and there are few indeed of those remaining, after the depredations of Saruman's orcs. I can only assume they are obtaining provisions from the Dunlendings."

"The Dunlendings suffered heavy losses against us, and must have been neglecting their own lands while occupied with fighting," Éomer said. "I would not have thought they had much to spare."

"They might be sharing what they have freely, out of their mutual hatred of the Rohirrim," Erkenbrand suggested, "or the Southrons may be taking it by force." He grimaced again. "My men have found signs that the Haradrim may have been reduced to eating their horses."

Éomer grimaced in his turn. "They must be in dire straits indeed," he said. He knew that the Haradrim were almost as much a horse-centred culture as the Rohirrim and eating their horses would be a desperate measure of last resort. "Even if they are not raiding our people now they will, inevitably, be forced to do so in the future. Unless they see sense and surrender – but, if they had been going to do so, surely they would have surrendered already. No doubt the Enemy convinced them that the men of the West would massacre or enslave any who were taken prisoner."

"It's what they would do themselves, if the tales I have heard of the Southrons have any foundation in fact," Erkenbrand said. "I doubt that they will give themselves up peaceably after all this time."

"Indeed so," Éomer said, "and we must treat them as a threat. Until they are found, and destroyed or taken prisoner, our visitors from Gondor must always be escorted by a large group of Riders whenever they are out of Edoras."

"Especially Princess Lothíriel, eh?" Erkenbrand said, grinning.

Éomer tried to keep his expression impassive. "It would hardly help our relationship with Gondor if Prince Erchirion or Prince Amrothos were to be slain by Haradrim raiders whilst under our protection," he pointed out.

Erkenbrand threw back his head and laughed openly. "Have it your own way," he said. "You are the King, after all. We will pretend that you pay attention to the Princess only as a matter of diplomatic courtesy."

Éomer pursed his lips, ruefully, and then laughed too. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

"No, not obvious at all," Erkenbrand said, and he paused for a moment, his eyes twinkling, before adding "at least not to those who are blind."

"I was trying to be… discreet," Éomer said.

"Well, you failed," Erkenbrand said. "Your feelings are written all over your face whenever you look at her. Everyone from the Marshalls of the Mark to the stable-boys must know."

"No wonder Imrahil expected me to offer for her hand on the spot," Éomer said. "Anyway, it would be important to ensure her safety even if it was a matter only of diplomatic courtesy. The Haradrim are a threat to our visitors, and to our own people, and must be dealt with. Taken captive if possible, and sent back to their own lands, but otherwise they must be slain. What are their numbers?"

Erkenbrand frowned, raised a hand to his face, and stroked his beard. "They are, as I said, making every effort to hide their presence. What tracks we have found have been those of horses in single file and it has been impossible to count them. I would say, however, that there must be at least forty or fifty."

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Amir Nizar ran his fingers over his beard, drawing it out to a fine point, and stared at the spy. "So, the barbarians know we are here. It was inevitable, of course, but it would have been better if the discovery had come later. What news of the Princess?"

"She will leave Rohan soon, to return to Gondor," the spy said. His skin was pale, his eyes were grey, and he could easily pass for a Gondorian. Not surprisingly; he was the child of slaves taken in Belfalas by the Corsairs of Umbar and sold on to the Haradrim. However he had been brought up as a Haradrim warrior since early childhood and his loyalty was unquestioned. "I fear that, now they know of our presence, they will give her an escort too strong for us to overcome."

"Then we must make them think the danger has passed," said Nizar. "Do they have an accurate idea of our numbers?"

"Not at all, Lord," the spy replied. "They think we are but fifty or so strong at most."

The Amir bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. "Then we shall show them what they expect to see. Qasim!"

"Yes, Lord?" answered his second-in-command.

"Find volunteers for a suicide mission," the Amir ordered. "Seek out those who have nothing to return to, those who have sworn oaths of blood vengeance, and men who are infirm and know they will not survive the long journey home. Can you find between forty and fifty who would give their lives to inflict a crushing blow on the Northern barbarians?"

"With ease, Lord," Qasim replied. "And shall I choose horses for them from those in the worst condition?"

"You anticipate my thoughts," said Nizar. "Make it so." He folded his arms and began to plan.

His company, fleeing the wreck of the Pellenor fields, had found escape to the South cut off and the only option had been to turn North. They had stumbled upon a Dunlending village, inhabited only by women, old men, and children after the devastating defeat the Dunlendings had suffered at Helm's Deep, and had taken it over by force. The men, old women, and boys had been slain on the spot; only the younger women had been spared.

With the village as a base, and by eking out the village's supplies with the spoils of cautious raiding by parties of never more than forty men, the Haradrim had survived for months in relatively good shape. However Nizar had always known that it could not continue indefinitely; the Rohirrim would discover them eventually, despite such precautions as leaving orc corpses behind in pillaged farmsteads, gathering up the droppings of their horses, and riding out only in single file to hide their numbers from the hated enemy, and his aim had always been to find a way to break out and return to Harad.

Princess Lothíriel's visit to Rohan offered the perfect opportunity. With her as a hostage they would, at the least, be able to negotiate passage through Gondor; if they could win through without being forced to surrender her then she would make a rich prize that would gain Nizar high status and renown. Unfortunately their spy had not learned of her visit in advance, and there had been no chance to intercept the relatively lightly-defended convoy that had brought the Princess to Rohan, but he still hoped to seize her on her return trip. As long as the escort was not too strong…

Still, it was good news that the Rohirrim underestimated the strength of the Haradrim forces. The Amir had commanded a squadron of a thousand cavalry at the Pellenor Fields. They had been cut to pieces, smashed by the onrushing Rohirrim, and had lost many; yet the survivors numbered far more than the yellow-haired barbarians suspected. Fifty or so, they thought? Hah! The fools.

The true number was three hundred and thirty-four.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Laelryne saw the party approaching and, briefly, her heart leapt. Half a dozen drow, with nothing unusual about them other than their being somewhat bedraggled, were accompanied by one much taller. Towering above the others, a full head higher than any drow Laelryne had ever seen save only for one; Qilué Veladorn.

As they drew nearer Laelryne's momentary joy was dispelled. It wasn't Qilué. This woman lacked the ethereal beauty of Eilistraee's deceased Chosen. Her features were harder, her arms were corded with muscle, and her studded leather armour was designed for practicality rather than for visual appeal. A longsword hung at her left hip, a handaxe at her right, and a longbow and a quiver were slung across her back. The hilts of daggers were visible protruding from sheaths in her boots. She had the deep brown skin and jet-black hair of one of the transformed Miyeritari and her eyes were amber.

The tall woman halted and dipped her head briefly. "Vendui, jallil. You are the Matron Mother here?"

"We do not use that term," Laelryne said, "but I am the leader. Laelryne, former Priestess of Eilistraee, at your service. And you are?"

"I am Cierre, ranger of Luruar," the tall one replied. She swept a hand in a gesture indicating her companions. "And these are refugees from Rilauven."

"We barely escaped with our lives," one of them said. A male drow, clad in the dark red leather armour that some of Vhaeraun's worshippers had favoured, with a short-sword at his left hip. "There was no pursuit, the Lolth-worshippers were satisfied with merely driving us forth from the city, but on the surface we were set upon by darthiir and taken captive. They…" he swallowed hard, and his voice quavered, "they killed three of us, slowly, and declared that they would slay the rest after they attacked a rivvin village. They planned to leave us there, dead, to take the blame. And then, in the nick of time, Cierre came and freed us."

"A noble deed," Laelryne said.

Cierre shrugged her shoulders. "It was only what anyone would have done," she said. "I just happened to be there."

"No-one else could have done it," said the spokesman for the drow refugees. "There were twenty of the darthiir and she slew them all."

Cierre lowered her eyes, dropped her left hand to the pommel of her sword, and caressed the gold orb with her thumb. "It wasn't hard," she said. "They had set only four sentries and they weren't watching each other. I picked them off one at a time and, after that, the rest was easy."

Easy? Laelryne felt her eyes widening. She deduced that the surface elves had been members of the fanatical Eldreth Veluuthra organisation, for only they would have planned to slay humans and place the blame upon the Drow, and she well knew the skill and ferocity of the Veluuthran warriors.

"It was a good deed, and bravely done, and I thank you. Not only for the rescue of these good folk," she said, working on the assumption that the refugees were worshippers of Eilistraee or Vhaeraun and so could be regarded as good until they proved otherwise, "but because the elves you slew were our foes as well. We have fought them, more than once, but our clashes have been indecisive. At close quarters we outmatch them but at a distance their bows outrange our crossbows and they have the advantage."

Cierre's face, which had been almost expressionless up to now, lit up with a broad smile. "Then let me offer my arms in your service," she said. "I have a duskwood longbow that was made for me by the finest bowyer of the Elk Tribe Uthgardt, with a draw weight of two hundred pounds, and I can hit my mark at a distance far beyond that which any darthiir can reach."

Laelryne's eyes widened again. She wouldn't have believed it possible for any drow to wield an Uthgardt heavy bow effectively, even with the aid of a Giant Strength belt; it was the weapon of a male human archer, and an exceptionally strong and well-practiced one at that. Of course Cierre was freakishly tall… although that wouldn't be a tactful way of putting it and would be unlikely to win her friendship.

"Your assistance would be most valuable," Laelryne said, "and I am honoured. I accept your offer, gladly, but it can only be for a short time. We intend to depart from this world, in the near future, and I doubt that we shall ever return."

Cierre tilted her head to one side. "An intriguing idea," she said. "Tell me more."

"Later," Laelryne said. "First I must see to these displaced ones who are, no doubt, in need of rest, food, and shelter. I suggest that we talk further over a meal."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Éomer beamed with delight as he greeted his two guests. "I note you arrive just as we were about to dine," he teased, after they had exchanged hand-clasps. "I suspect this is no coincidence."

Gimli gave a short bark of laughter. "You're mixing us up with the hobbits, Éomer King," he said, "and the timing was all Legolas' doing. I just sat behind him on the horse and left the rest to him."

"Gimli will never make a horseman, I fear," Legolas said, "but with an axe he has no equal. And that is the purpose of our visit, for word has reached us that you have trouble with Haradrim raiders. His axe, and my bow, are at your service."

"It seems an age since I have cleaved the skulls of foemen," said Gimli. "I would not want my skills to grow rusty from disuse."

"It will take long indeed for them to decline to the level of a common warrior," said Éomer, "but, for now, I fear that I must disappoint you. You are too late. Grimbold's éored came upon the Haradrim as they raided a hamlet in the Westfold. It was a bitter struggle, I am told, for the Southerners fought with the desperation of cornered rats. Yet my men had the advantage of numbers and prevailed. Eight Riders fell, alas, but the Haradrim were utterly destroyed."

"Good to hear," said Gimli, "but it is a shame that I missed a fight."

"As did I," said Éomer. "When a courier arrived to tell of the Haradrim's presence I at once gathered the household troops to ride forth. However we had barely departed from Edoras when a second messenger met us with the news that the Haradrim had been defeated. If you wish to turn your axe on anyone, friend Gimli, it must be me."

"Why would I want to do that?" Gimli asked.

"I am afraid that I have met yet another woman who I deem fairer than the Lady Galadriel," Éomer revealed. "Prince Imrahil's daughter, Lothíriel, has captured my heart and I will place her above any other."

Gimli showed his teeth in a grin. "Aye, I saw the girl in Minas Tirith," he said. "I'll not deny that she's pretty, for a human, but she's not to my taste. It seems that you have a fondness for dark-haired women. I, however, am a dwarf and my preference will always be for gold."

Éomer laughed. "So I have noticed," he said. "And, though you are indeed no hobbit, you do have a fondness for food and for ale. Come, and you shall have both."

Finding places for the two unexpected, but welcome, guests at dinner was accomplished with only a small amount of rearrangement. To find somewhere appropriate for them to sleep would be more of a challenge. Meduseld was overflowing already, with the visitors from Dol Amroth and their entourage taking up all the available rooms, and one could hardly expect two of the Nine Walkers to lie curled up in a corner of the Great Hall… If the worst came to the worst, Éomer decided, he would hand over his own room to his friends and spend the night in Firefoot's stall. However his housekeeper was showing no signs of agitation and he guessed that she, miracle worker that she was, had already worked out a way to deal with accommodation for the extra guests. He could relax and enjoy the conversation.

"Legolas," he said, after a round of pleasantries, "perhaps I could make use of your skills while you are here. I would be grateful if you could take a look at the place where the Haradrim were destroyed, and at the sites where we had found other signs of them, and see if you can determine whether we have disposed of them all or whether some may yet remain."

The elf smiled and nodded. "Of course, my friend," he said. "I am no match for Aragorn as a tracker, and I am more skilled in the woodlands than upon the open plains, but I will gladly do what I can in the absence of a trained Ranger."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Twenty years I have been a ranger in the Silver Marches," Cierre said, "and now I have been banished." Her face was expressionless; too much so, tightly controlled, and Laelryne could not tell if Cierre was holding back anger or tears.

"Why?" Thorn asked, bluntly. "Alustriel Silverhand is known as wise and just. She would not have sentenced you to banishment if you did not deserve it."

Cierre did not reply immediately. She took a bite from a pheasant leg, chewed on it slowly, and swallowed. Only then did she turn her head to face Thorn. "One fight too many," she said. "A merchant in Everlund tried to cheat me. I took him by the head and thrust his face through his shop counter. Then his guards set upon me and were stupid enough to draw steel."

"You killed them?" asked Thorn.

"Quite possibly," Cierre said. "It depends upon how soon they received medical attention. I did not wait to check and the messenger from Lady Alustriel did not mention their condition. He delivered only the sentence of banishment if I did not return with him to face trial." She raised a goblet to her lips, took a sip of wine, and then returned her attention to the pheasant.

'Two or three shop guards against the woman who single-handedly slew twenty of the Eldreth Veluuthra,' Laelryne thought. 'Yapping dogs against a dire tiger.' She studied Cierre's face, trying to read the deeper emotions behind the tall drow's façade of casual unconcern, and sensed bitterness, loneliness, and pain. "Was it necessary to resort to violence?" Laelryne probed. "Could you not have gone to the authorities?"

"I threatened to do so," Cierre said, "and the merchant laughed, and he retorted that the Elders would take his word over that of a filthy drow and I would lose my case. So I broke his face." She lowered her hands and stared into Laelryne's eyes. "Well? Are you going to refuse my offer of service?"

Laelryne hesitated for a long moment, weighing her decision, before speaking. "No," she said. "There may have been a better way of handling the situation but you had no one to turn to, no one to guide you, and I will not condemn you for your actions. I ask only that, if some like situation arises again, you come to me before you act. Then, if we cannot obtain justice through the law, we will break the merchant's face together."

Cierre's eyebrows rose. She laid down her food, and her goblet, and stood up briefly before going down on one knee facing Laelryne. She clasped her hands in front of her chin and bowed her head. "Bel'la dos, Jabbress," she said. "My skills with bow, sword, and axe are yours. A'dos quarth."

"I accept," Laelryne said. "Resume your seat. You need not kneel before me." Cierre sat down and picked up the remnants of her pheasant leg. "Do you, then, intend to come with us when we travel through the portal to another world?" Laelryne asked.

"That is my wish," Cierre confirmed. "I had planned to leave this area anyway. I am barred from my home in Luruar, I am not welcome in the lands of Neverwinter, and I do not trust the Luskans. Most of my friends in the Elk Tribe have died or fallen from power. My life would be instantly forfeit if I returned to Menzoberranzan. I had thought that, perhaps, I might go to Rashemen. It is said that it is a land of harsh winters and muscular barbarians. I like both. That is why I headed this way, for I had heard of the portal, and I hoped it could transport me there and save me months of trekking across the continent."

"There would have been no welcome for you in Rashemen, for the drow are hated and feared there," Liriel Baenre put in. "You would be attacked on sight."

"So, no different from anywhere else, then," said Cierre.

"And that is why I plan to escape to somewhere we are unknown," said Laelryne. She sighed. "If, that is, we can find such a place."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Laelryne lowered the book and raised her eyes to meet Liriel's. "Am I interpreting this ancient script correctly?" she asked. "It seems almost too good to be true. We can go to the ancient homeland of the elves, from which our ancestors departed long before the transformation of the Ilythiiri and the Miyeritari into Drow, where we could make a completely fresh start. Can it really be so?"

"My reading of the text is exactly the same as yours," Liriel confirmed. "I think the world described fits the criteria you laid down quite well."

"It does," Laelryne agreed. "Assuming, of course, that the danger from which those ancestors fled is not still present."

"Ah," said Liriel, her pretty face lighting up with a smile, "that's where the Rituals of Shaundakul come in. They are instructions for the casting of divinations that warn of perils beyond the portal. If that great danger is still there we will know and can choose an alternative destination. There are several other worlds which could be viable options."

"One of which is the world the Imaskari plundered for slaves," Laelryne said. "If records of that time still exist there then any who arrive through portals would be treated with suspicion or even slain on sight. I believe that this 'Arda', whence came our people, is the best option."

"I thought you'd say that," Liriel said. "I'll get ready to perform the rituals."

"And I shall begin preparations for the journey," said Laelryne. "I must check on our stores of provisions, clothes, weapons…"

"The cares of a leader," said Liriel.

"Indeed," said Laelryne. "I never expected, nor wanted, such responsibilities. The only thing at which I excelled was swordplay. Qilué, Elkantar, Iljrene, Rylla, and Eldara all were senior to me. And then, suddenly, they were all dead and the Promenade had fallen. It was left to me to take care of the survivors only because there is no-one else."

"You are doing it well," Liriel praised.

Laelryne gave a short, bitter, laugh. "I'm glad you think so. I'm just stumbling along trying to do what I think is right and hoping I don't get everyone killed."

Liriel raised her eyebrows. "And yet your people have confidence in you. They are willing to follow you even to another world."

"I will try not to let them down," said Laelryne. She stood up, realised that she was still holding the book, and handed the ancient tome back to Liriel. "I must get on with those preparations I mentioned," Laelryne said. "If our provisions and arms are in good order, and your divinations show that the destination is not excessively perilous, then we will depart in a matter of days."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

The spy brought word of the date when the Princess would leave Edoras to return to Gondor. Amir Nizar had made his plans in advance. They would have to take a circuitous route through Rohan, staying away from the settlements as much as possible, and so they would have to set off well before the convoy departed. However if they arrived at the selected ambush point too soon they would have to loiter there, awaiting the approach of their prey, and this would increase the chance that their presence would be discovered. Correct timing was crucial. The Amir made his calculations and gave the necessary orders.

The last thing they did before departing was to slay the captive Dunlending women. When the Haradrim rode forth they left behind them a village occupied only by the dead.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Rohan was a land full of widows, after the casualties the éoreds had suffered in the war, but the presence of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth meant that there were as many men as women at the feast held to say farewell to the Princess and her entourage.

Éomer was not the only one for whom this occasion heralded a parting from one for whom he cared. One of the Swan Knights, a veteran with touches of grey in his hair and his beard, had become involved with the widow of Déorwine, chief of the King's Knights, who had been slain at the gates of Mundburg. It was too soon after her husband's death for there to be any question yet of betrothal but Éomer was sure that the Knight would be returning to Rohan. He was a worthy man, and a fine warrior, and if he wished to transfer his allegiance he would be welcome. But that was a matter for the future.

Tonight there was feasting and then there was dancing. Rohirric dances were very different from the formal balls of Gondor but Lothíriel coped very well. And not merely coped but, evidently, enjoyed herself.

The whole of her visit, Éomer thought, had gone very well. The people had taken to Lothíriel very quickly. Her natural charm, and the tact and diplomacy she had learned as the daughter of an important personage of Gondor, enabled her to win over even those who had initially been suspicious of the foreign woman. Not that she was entirely without flaws, Éomer had discovered that she could have a hot temper at times, but she was quick to apologise if she was in the wrong and to forgive if she was in the right. She only showed real anger at acts of cruelty or injustice. She would make a fine Queen of Rohan.

And, Éomer knew, he wanted very much for her to be his wife. He wanted to lie with her at night and wake with her in the morning light. He wanted to dine with her, to ride with her, to sit with her, to share his life with her in every way. To part with her, even temporarily, would hurt. It was, unfortunately, necessary. The rules of Gondorian propriety had to be observed. And so, in the morning, she would set off to return to her home.

He wanted her to stay. He wanted to go with her. He wanted to strip Edoras of Riders and send five éoreds with her to make absolutely, positively, certain that no harm could possibly befall her.

Unfortunately he was a king and owed a duty to his people. He had to stay in Edoras and continue the work of repairing Rohan from the ravages of the war. And he had to retain the army at home, ready to defend Rohan against any who might seek to strike at the weakened realm; there were still hostile Dunlendings, and some remnants of Saruman's orcs, posing a potential threat. He was bolstering Lothíriel's escort of Swan Knights with Riders of Rohan, certainly, but not even a full éored. Instead he was sending an éored that had suffered heavy casualties at the Pellenor Fields; thirty-eight uninjured Riders remaining out of their initial strength of one hundred and twenty. They, added to the twenty Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, should be more than sufficient to deter any foes.

Éomer put the thought out of his mind and concentrated on enjoying his last evening with Lothíriel before her departure. Storing up every word, every dance, and every touch of her hand to see him through their separation.

Including storing up the distinctly unusual, and definitely memorable, sight of Lothíriel dancing with Gimli.

Éomer watched with mingled amusement and envy. He would rather be dancing with her himself, of course, but for some reason Legolas had insisted on joining him for a serious conversation and Gimli had snatched up Lothíriel. Still, the contrast of the willowy princess with the compact block of muscle that was the dwarf was enjoyable to watch. Lothíriel's broad smile and twinkling eyes showed that she was enjoying herself as well – and, for a wonder, was managing to avoid having her feet trodden on by the dwarf's iron-shod boots.

"I confess I do not understand the human attitude to courtship," Legolas said, "especially the customs of the nobility of Gondor."

It took a couple of seconds for Éomer to realise that Legolas, who had been in the middle of reporting that he had so far been unable to confirm that the Haradrim raiders who had been slain constituted the entirety of the Southron presence in Rohan, had changed the subject. "Oh?" he said.

"Yes, for it is obvious to all that your fëa and that of Lothíriel sing in harmony," Legolas observed, "and your marriage is inevitable. You wish to wed her, she desires the same, and her father's approval is certain. Yet her brothers watch over her like hawks to ensure that you do not have a moment alone with her. When you dance they frown at the slightest physical contact that might exceed the bounds of their, what is it called, propriety. Very strange."

"True," Éomer agreed.

"Whereas they regard her as completely safe with Gimli," Legolas went on, "and their attention has wavered."

Indeed Amrothos was now engrossed in a discussion of cavalry tactics with Marshalls Elfhelm and Erkenbrand, his eyes never even straying in the direction of his sister and the dwarf, and Erchirion was deep in conversation with that Swan Knight who was involved with Déorwine's widow.

"Are you saying Lothíriel is _not_ safe with Gimli?" Éomer queried, perplexed.

Legolas laughed. "There is none more honourable than Gimli in all of Middle Earth," he said, "and Lothíriel does not have golden hair. You need have no fears." He set down his goblet and pushed back his chair. "The room grows overly hot for my taste," he said, "and I feel the need for a little fresh air. I suggest, Lord Éomer, that you accompany me for a brief stroll outside to continue our conversation. You may find it to your advantage." Then, much to Éomer's surprise, Legolas closed one eye in a definite wink.

Éomer was even more puzzled now but he went along with the elf's suggestion and accompanied Legolas out of the Hall. Once outside he saw Legolas take a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air, and Éomer did the same. The air inside the Hall had smelt of wood-smoke, roasted meat, and spilled ale; the air outdoors was clean and fresh save for the slight aroma of horse manure which was ever-present in and around Edoras. To the Rohirrim, of course, that scent was not unpleasant.

"You are indeed fortunate, Éomer King," Legolas remarked. "Lothíriel of Dol Amroth is a maiden fair, virtuous, and intelligent. She will make a fine Queen of Rohan and I am certain that you will be very happy together."

"I believe so," Éomer agreed. He thought he detected a slight tone of envy in the elf's voice and focused his gaze on Legolas. "You have never spoken of your family," he said, "except that I know your father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood. Tell me, do you have a wife, or a betrothed, waiting for you in your father's realm?" The answer, if Legolas was willing to give it, might enable Éomer to put to rest certain suspicions, raised on occasion by some among the Rohirrim, about the relationship between Legolas and Gimli.

Legolas shook his head. "I have never met the elf-maid whose fëa sings with mine," he said, "and I now suspect that she is not now to be found in Middle Earth. Perhaps I shall meet her after I sail West."

The door from the Hall opened once more, before Éomer could reply, and Gimli led Lothíriel out into the night.

"What a coincidence that we should meet Éomer out here," Gimli said. "Well, Princess, I have things to talk about with Legolas, and so I shall leave you in the care of your host for a few moments, if you will it." There was not enough light to be certain but Éomer strongly suspected that he saw Gimli's left eye close in a broad wink.

"And now," said Legolas, "you can bid your lady a proper goodbye."

Éomer grinned and said "Thank you, my friends." Then he opened his arms, welcomed Lothíriel into his embrace, and met his lips with hers in a tender but passionate farewell kiss.

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Ebony skin glinted in the moonlight as they danced. It would be the last time they danced by the light of Selûne; soon they would be in a world where a different moon swam through the night sky. Now they danced to say farewell to their destroyed homes, to their dead gods, and to Faerûn.

Those who had been worshippers of Eilistraee danced naked, as was their custom; the Vhaeraun worshippers were less comfortable unclad and most of them retained at least some of their clothing. Cierre, despite not being a worshipper of either of the two deceased deities, stripped down to her sword-belt and joined in the dance.

Some of the dancers shed tears as they gyrated beneath the moon. Some smiled and laughed, carried away by the rhythm and the motion, forgetting their cares for a while. There were those who slipped away, by pairs, into the shadows outside the clearing. Some were those in committed relationships but others were not. They may have sought to seek comfort and support before setting out on the journey into the unknown, or to say farewell to Faerûn in the most primal way possible, or merely to slake temporary lusts inspired by the nude dancing; Laelryne did not know the motives and did not feel that they were any of her business.

She did not participate. No-one made any such suggestions to her and, even had a male she found attractive made an advance, she would have felt it her duty to refuse. As the leader she had to stay apart, impartial, and aloof. Eventually, as the fire died and the dancers tired, Laelryne went alone to her bed.

And the next day, once all had arisen and broken their fasts, they assembled in front of the stone arch that housed the portal; the Voice of the Lost, greatest of the Song Portals of vanished Illefarn, the gate that spanned worlds.

Liriel cast the spell that opened the gate and a shimmering blue haze filled the arch. "Vedaust, Laelryne," she said. "Aluvé."

"Vedaust, Liriel," Laelryne replied. "If you change your mind…"

"I doubt that I will," said Liriel, "but I have the spell to open the gate. If the time comes when I must leave Faerûn then I will join you in Arda."

"You will be welcome," said Laelryne. "Vedaust… abbil."

Then Laelryne gathered her people together and led them forward. They had numbered forty-one at the time when Tebolvir had first suggested that they depart from Faerûn. Since that time they had been joined by eleven other refugees, including Cierre and the six she had brought with her, but four had fallen in clashes with the Eldreth Veluuthra. Forty-eight drow advanced through the portal and vanished from the face of Faerûn.

Liriel never saw them again.


	2. Twice blessed is help unlooked for

**Part Two: Twice blessed is help unlooked for**

_Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before._

Led Zeppelin, _The Battle of Evermore_

The stones were ancient, eroded, and barely protruded above the earth. Some had sunk altogether and only the barrenness of the soil above them betrayed their presence.

"This must be the site of the original portal that our ancestors used to depart from this world, millennia ago," said Tebolvir, "and it would seem that it has not been used since then. To reactivate it, in the event that this world proves inhospitable, would be a mighty task."

"Impossible, I would say," said Laelryne, "but we were warned that such might be the case. We are here to stay." She looked around and saw that they were in an area of open, rolling, grasslands. In one direction there were mountains, forming a line along the horizon; to the other side the plains continued as far as the eye could see, with only an occasional copse of woodland interrupting the expanse of grass. The sky above was cloudy, with a few patches of blue sky in the distance, but there was no indication that rain was imminent. "I wonder what time of day it is," she mused, "and, for that matter, what time of year. If this is what passes for their winter I fear that Cierre will be disappointed."

"I can always head north, Jabbress," Cierre said, "or south if we are below the equator." She brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the light, in an instinctive gesture that was no longer necessary now that the transformation had given her the daylight tolerance of a surface Elf, and surveyed her surroundings.

"There should be some kind of civilisation on this world, according to what the Rituals revealed, but it does not seem that it is close at hand," Laelryne said.

"There is a road over there, Jabbress," Cierre pointed out, "and I see travellers upon it."

Laelryne looked in the direction indicated by Cierre and saw the road. It was a good thirty seconds before she was able to spot the travellers in the distance, her eyes not being as sharp in the outdoors as those of the tall ranger, but eventually she saw indistinct moving figures. They came more clearly into focus and she was able to distinguish horses, riders, and wagons. "They are coming in this direction," she said, "and I would say their numbers are not significantly greater than our own. A merchant caravan, or similar, I think. We will have to make contact with the locals eventually; we might as well do it now. Form up, everyone, and follow me."

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Éomer tried to put aside thoughts of Lothíriel and concentrate on the council meeting. It wasn't easy. There were two main subjects to be discussed; one was the resettling of those parts of the Mark that had been depopulated by the depredations of Saruman's hordes, and the provision of adequate safeguards against the Dunlendings and whatever remnants of the orcs that might still be hiding out in the mountains; the other was the possible construction of a road through the White Mountains from Harrowdale to Gondor, making use of the tunnels that had been the Paths of the Dead. Such a road would significantly shorten the journey to the western areas of Gondor, especially to Dol Amroth, and Éomer had to keep considering whether or not he was being unduly influenced by the thought of an easy route between Edoras and the home of his beloved.

One of his counsellors was in the middle of a speech when the door was thrown open and Legolas rushed into the council room. Éomer looked up in surprise. There must be some very urgent reason for the Elf to behave in such a fashion.

"My Lord King," Legolas called, "I bring bad tidings. The Haradrim were not destroyed." Gimli, and the two Riders whom Éomer had sent to accompany the pair on their mission, entered the hall behind Legolas. The Riders appeared to be perturbed and Gimli's face was set into an ominous glower.

"There are more of them? Where?" Éomer asked. He stood up. As far as he was concerned the council meeting was over.

"We crossed their trail," Legolas said, "and it seems that they passed by Edoras, giving it as wide a berth as they could, some two or three days ago. They were heading roughly south-east. Towards Gondor."

"To Gondor? Why would they…?" Éomer began, and then realisation hit him. "Béma!" he exclaimed. "The West Road. They are after Princess Lothíriel!"

"That is my thought too," Legolas agreed. "She would make a valuable hostage – as, indeed, would the two princes. With the Princess and her brothers as their prisoners the Haradrim could force King Elessar to grant them unmolested passage through the lands of Gondor to Harad."

"Indeed so," said Éomer. His brows lowered. "Surely the Haradrim cannot be strong enough to attack her convoy," he said. "There are, counting the two princes, sixty men in the escort."

"I fear that will not be enough," Legolas said. "The Haradrim number far more than that."

"What? How many?"

"It was not easy to work out the numbers from the hoof-prints," Legolas said, "but there were signs…"

"Dung," Gimli interjected.

"Indeed," said Legolas. "Gimli observed that there was much dung on the trail and I made a close examination. I would say that they left more than twice the amount of dung behind them that a full éored leaves. They number two hundred at the very least. Probably, assuming that they were travelling at speed, the true count will be close to three hundred."

Éomer bared his teeth in a snarl. "Béma!" he exclaimed again. "We must ride at once. I cannot leave Edoras altogether undefended, lest the Haradrim double back and attack our homes, but we must have a considerable force if we are to defeat them without suffering heavy losses." He raised a hand and stroked his beard. His father had died because he had ridden out in pursuit of orc raiders without taking enough men… He came to his decision quickly. "We have a ditch, and strong walls, and footmen can defend Edoras as capably as can horsemen," he said. "Éothain! Pass the word for the muster. Every man who can ride. Make sure we are well provisioned and there are plenty of remounts. We ride fast and far. Forth Eorlingas!"

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Lothíriel gazed, fascinated, at the strange beings that were approaching. They resembled Elves – but they were black! Most of them had skin that was as black as jet but, in stark contrast, their hair was as white as snow. The others were less dark of skin, a deep brown, but had black hair. All save one of them were small; they were on foot, although they had two laden pack-mules, and it was hard for Lothíriel to judge their height when she was mounted, but she would estimate that few of them reached even as tall as five feet. The exception was a woman who was tall by any standards, close to six feet, who held a great bow of a length that matched her height; a weapon not unlike the bow of Legolas.

"Keep back, Lothíriel," Erchirion cautioned. "They may be creatures of Sauron and they are heavily armed."

"They are black and evil," muttered one of the Riders of Rohan.

"I have never heard that Sauron's forces included women," Lothíriel said. "Nor have I heard that there were any Elves in Mordor, black or otherwise." She continued to study the approaching figures. Many of them were armed with a strange weapon like nothing she had seen before; a small bow fastened to a long, flat-topped, wooden shaft, so that any arrow would have to slide along the flat surface before it could leave the bow. It seemed remarkably inefficient. They were held loosely, pointing down at the ground, presumably as a sign of peaceful intent.

"Who knows what may have lurked in his secret chambers below Barad-dûr?" Erchirion countered. "We must be on our guard."

"One of them is with child, brother," Amrothos pointed out. Indeed, Lothíriel saw, one of the black Elf women was visibly pregnant. "I doubt that a party with evil intent would include a lady in such condition among their number."

"And the one in the lead, who has the tall woman watching over her like a mother bear watching over a cub, has a nice smile," said Lothíriel. "Let us hear what they have to say before condemning them as enemies."

The woman at the front of the group of dark elves, who was one of those with brown skin and black hair, raised a hand and her party came to a halt. She then took a couple of steps forward and spoke.

Her words were completely incomprehensible.

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"Should I cast Comprehend Languages, Jabbress?" Tebolvir suggested. "Nothing they have said resembles any tongue I have ever heard."

Laelryne shook her head. "Not yet. You would have to touch one of them and they seem excessively wary of us; almost as if the Drow are not as unknown in this world as we were led to expect. The gesture might be interpreted as an attack. We must persevere, first, with attempts to find a mutually comprehensible language. Only fall back on the spell if all else fails."

"A'dos quarth," Tebolvir assented, giving a nod of his head.

"I shall try the Darthiir tongue," Laelryne said. "Not all the Elves left this world with our ancestors, if the tales are true, and some may dwell here still. If that is so then some of the humans may speak their language."

At that very moment the human woman, whose clothing and fine steed indicated that she was a person of wealth and importance, spoke. "Who are you, and why do you stop us on the highway?" she asked, in the very language Laelryne had been going to try. It wasn't quite the same dialect as the one with which Laelryne was familiar but it was close enough to be understandable.

Laelryne smiled. "We are travellers from afar, newly come to this land," she replied. "I am Laelryne, Protector of the Song, and these are my people. We seek directions."

"Directions?" A tall man in full plate armour, his helm surmounted by a crest in the shape of a swan, spoke in the same language. "This is the Great West Road. Rohan lies behind us. Gondor lies ahead. If you are here you must have come from one or the other. Even to get here from Mordor would mean crossing the lands of Gondor. What are you and whence come you? Are you creatures of Sauron?"

Laelryne felt her smile slipping and forced it back into place. She sensed, rather than saw, Cierre tensing and she put her hand out and touched the lethal ranger's arm. "Easy, my friend," she said soothingly, speaking in Ilythiiri. She returned her attention to the knight and switched back to the tongue of the Darthiir. "I know not what you mean," she said. "We are Elves whose ancestors left these lands many centuries ago. We fell upon troubled times in our current home and have returned here seeking shelter."

"And we are not 'creatures', rivvil iblith," Cierre muttered, just loudly enough to be heard, but – thankfully – in Ilythiiri.

"Then go along this road, in either direction, but go by yourselves," said the knight. "We are not willing to allow heavily-armed strangers to travel in our company."

"That is ungallant of you, Erchirion," the woman said.

"Indeed so," agreed another knight in similar armour and accoutrements to the first. Only those two of the company were in full plate; some of the other men wore the same swan insignia but their armour was a coat-of-plates over chain-mail. The rest of the riders wore nothing heavier than chain-mail and their emblem was a white horse on a green background. "There are women there, brother, in fact more than half of them are women, and I've already pointed out the condition that one of them is in. It does seem harsh making them travel unaccompanied through an unfamiliar land." He added a couple of sentences in an alien language; Laelryne guessed that he was translating his speech for members of the group who did not speak Elvish.

"What would you have me do? Offer them seats upon our wagons? I think not," said the first knight, Erchirion. He switched over to the other language and spoke at some length to his companions.

"I apologise for my brother's discourtesy," the woman said, "but I cannot deny that his caution is rooted in sound sense. I cannot, without his assent, give permission for you to accompany us. Yet I will not refuse aid to those who need it. Are you adequately provisioned? There may be things we could spare. And I can offer a riding horse for that lady who is in… a delicate condition."

"I thank you," Laelryne replied, "but we are amply supplied with necessities. And Srulauthe would have no use for the horse."

"I cannot ride, my Lady," Srulauthe explained, "and my condition does not yet hamper my walking, but I thank you for the offer."

The woman turned to the knights. "See, brothers, is that not fair speech? Shall it truly be answered by suspicion and discourtesy?"

"One may speak fair and do foul," said Erchirion. "My mind is made up, Lothíriel, and you will not dissuade me. They must make their own way through this land."

"Quite apart from any consideration of possible treachery," said the other knight, "a party on foot would slow us down. We would not reach the next village before nightfall. I think that I must, reluctantly, back Erchirion in this matter."

"Tell me, then," Laelryne requested, "in which direction the nearest town lies."

The woman, Lothíriel, consulted briefly with the others, and with the riders who wore chain-mail and bore the horse emblem, in the non-Elvish tongue. She then turned back to the Drow party and spoke in Elvish once more. "We are half-way between two villages," she told them. "It would make little difference which way you went. Yet, if you go that way," she pointed back in the direction from which her party had come, "you would be greeted with suspicion and perhaps even attacked. The Rohirrim do not speak Elvish and it would be hard for you to explain that you are peaceful."

"Especially as you are armed for war," Erchirion put in.

"It may be best, then, if you follow behind us," Lothíriel went on. "We can advise the village elders that you approach and make sure that there are no… unfortunate misunderstandings."

"We shall do as you suggest," Laelryne said, "and I thank you. Farewell."

"Fare thee well," said Lothíriel. Erchirion called out a command and the human convoy moved off.

Laelryne waited until they had drawn clear and then gave the signal for her people to follow. "Well, that could have gone better," she said, "but it could have gone worse also. The woman, Lothíriel, seemed pleasant and well-inclined towards us."

"Yet the others seemed less so," said Tebolvir. "We were treated with as much suspicion as we would have been back in Faerûn."

"There is yet time for things to improve," said Laelryne. "I can understand their reactions. They know us not, we are in truth armed and armoured such that we might appear to be a threat, and they might have been guarding a valuable cargo in those wagons. The next time we meet we might be able to establish friendlier relations."

They walked on, with the wagon convoy gradually drawing further ahead, and then Cierre drew Laelryne's attention to something in the distance.

"Horsemen," Cierre said. "A large body of them."

Laelryne could make out only that something was moving. It could have been a flock of birds, flying close to the ground, for all she could tell. "Keep your eyes on them, and report if they start coming this way," she told Cierre.

Cierre nodded assent. "A'dos quarth, Jabbress," she said. She continued to watch the horsemen.

After a little while, by which time the wagons and their escort of riders had pulled ahead of the Drow party by some four hundred yards, Cierre spoke again. "The horsemen divide their forces, Jabbress," she reported. "One group, perhaps a quarter of their number, are racing ahead. Ah, now they divide again. The largest section wheels to aim at the wagons. The remainder are turning to face us. Yes, they are coming this way."

"I can see them," Laelryne said, "but I can make no estimate of their numbers. Can you tell me how many there are?"

Cierre stared hard at each section of fast-moving horsemen. "Maybe sixty, sixty, and a hundred and twenty," she said, "or perhaps more. No, I have understated their numbers. Seventy-five, seventy-five, and a hundred and fifty would be a closer estimate."

"And one group heads for us? I like this not," Laelryne said. "Everyone, ready your crossbows! Wizards, make ready your spell components! Prepare for battle!"

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"To arms!" Erchirion shouted. Heruwine, commander of the Rohirric contingent of the escort, echoed the call in his own tongue. Men donned helmets, couched lances, and nocked arrows to bowstrings.

"They have circled us at a distance," said Amrothos, "and placed men before and behind. Yet one side remains clear."

"If we flee that way," said Erchirion, "we will be pinned against the mountains and slaughtered. And, if aid comes, it will come along the Road. We must fight here."

"Against odds of five to one," Amrothos said.

"Six to one, if those black Elves are their allies," Erchirion said.

Amrothos shook his head. "I think not. The Haradrim treat women as chattels, or so I have heard, but the black Elves were led by women. And who would send to war a woman whose belly swells with child?"

"You may well be right," said Erchirion, "but I cannot risk our fate upon such deductions. We must avoid the black Elves until they are proven friend or foe."

"Which way, then?" asked Amrothos.

"Forward," said Erchirion. "If we can break through the covering force the main body must pursue from behind. A stern chase is a long one." He raised his voice. "Abandon the wagons! Drivers, into the carriage with the servants! Form for a charge! Ohtar, Cirthalion," he called, naming two among the Swan Knights who were men steady and valiant, "take station beside Lothíriel and shield her from arrows! We shall break through and win free."

"Wait!" Lothíriel shouted. The urgency in her voice brought everyone to a halt. "Look behind! The black Elves form for battle, and not against us but against the Haradrim. See, the Southrons wheel to face them. We should go that way."

"To break through, escape, and leave women to cover our backs? That would be black shame," said Amrothos.

"No, brother," said Lothíriel, raising her eyes to look skyward. "To join with them. Some few riders, perhaps, might then ride for help while the others hold off the Haradrim."

Erchirion scowled. "I know not what to do for the best. But we must choose quickly." He thought hard as he watched the wagon drivers scrambling into the carriage. "Amrothos, what is your counsel?"

"I trust the Elf woman Laelryne," said Lothíriel, "black skin or no. Did she not style herself 'Protector of the Song'? What servant of Evil would use such a title?"

"I agree with our sister," Amrothos said. "Hard as it sits with me to put women into danger for our sake, I feel we have no choice."

The last of the wagon drivers, finding no more room inside the carriage, clambered up to join the carriage driver. Erchirion lifted his sword high. "Turn the carriage about," he commanded, "and face the rear. We ride back the way we have come. For Amroth and for Rohan!"

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"You are determined that we should fight for those rivvin who treated us with such distrust?" asked Kyoroth. "We do not even know who they are. Might those horsemen, who resemble the Bedine of Anauroch, not be righteous avengers? Or defending their homes against invaders?"

Laelryne shook her head. She was not surprised that her decision was being questioned; least of all that it was Kyoroth who did so.

Kyoroth, the only other surviving Protector of the Song, had lost some precious part of her spirit in the fall of the Promenade. She had seen Qilué make bad decision after bad decision, had heard the accounts of the terrible death of Iljrene, had seen her friends and comrades massacred, and had lost her goddess. It was perhaps inevitable that she found it difficult to trust the judgement of Laelryne who, after all, was her senior by only a small margin. Kyoroth had supported the plan to leave Faerûn, not surprisingly after what she had been through, but other than that she had questioned every decision. She had been suspicious of Liriel Baenre and reluctant to accept the little wizard's help. She had objected to Laelryne's ready acceptance of Cierre, seeing only that the tall ranger was a worshipper of the cold and merciless Frostmaiden, and not recognising the desperate loneliness and need for acceptance that lay within the deadly warrior.

And now Kyoroth wanted them to turn their backs on those in need.

"You answer your own question," Laelryne explained. "Like unto the Bedine, you say, or you might equally have said like unto the Calishites. Look at this land around us, Kyoroth; do you see desert? No, those horsemen are raiders, and the people of the wagons are natives. We intend to live in this land; will we be made welcome if our first action is to stand by and watch a massacre without intervening?"

"Who would know?" Kyoroth asked.

Laelryne opened her mouth to reply but Tebolvir beat her to it. "We would know," he said, "and we would walk with shame for the rest of our days."

Cierre looked at Kyoroth and her upper lip curled. "We fight," she said, in a tone carrying stinging contempt.

"Yes," said Laelryne. "We fight." She watched the rivvin convoy, saw the warriors making frantic preparations, and saw them wheeling the light carriage around to face back the way they had come. Her eyes might not be as sharp as Cierre's but she saw all that needed to be seen. The Calishites, or whatever they were, spun their horses about as the pale-skinned rivvin began their charge. "We fight… now! Ultrinnan!"

And forty-six voices – all save that of Kyoroth – echoed the ancient battle-cry of the Drow with one voice.

"Ultrinnan!"

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The Men of Dol Amroth and of Rohan rode into a hail of arrows. This they had expected, and they pressed on undaunted, trusting to their shields and armour to get them through to where their lances and swords could strike home. Yet the Haradrim aimed, not at the men who faced them, but at their steeds. Arrows bit into flesh, and horses fell, and riders crashed onto the hard ground. And the men of Harad wheeled their mounts about, and retreated, and loosed yet more arrows as they went. A horse in the traces of the carriage was hit, and went down, and the carriage wheels struck the body and the vehicle was brought to a shuddering halt. Things did not go well.

And then there arose a great cry from the ranks of the dark Elves beyond. "Ultrinnan!" was the word they shouted out, and none of the Men knew the meaning of the word, for it was not in the Elvish tongue that was spoken in Middle Earth. With the cry came a volley of small arrows, flying straight and true from the strange bows of the black Elves, and Haradrim warriors toppled from their horses and lay still. And, strange and wondrous to behold, a ball of fire came forth from nowhere, in the midst of the Haradrim host, and men and horses alike screamed in pain and fear as hair and clothing was set aflame.

Then the Men of Dol Amroth and of Rohan took new heart, and charged home, and met the scimitars of Harad with lance and sword. And from the far side charged the dark Elves, and bright swords gleamed in their hands, and at their head was the woman Laelryne and her tall companion. And with each stroke of Laelryne's sword a man died, and she sang as she slew, and at her side the tall one struck blows that cleaved skulls and severed limbs from bodies. The Haradrim riders, who had sought to prevent the escape of the people from the convoy, were caught between Men and Elves and perished to a man.

Erchirion and Amrothos exchanged smiles, and then looked about them, and their faces turned grim. For the main body of the Haradrim remained unfought, and were approaching, and the Men of the West had suffered in the combat. The princes saw that many of their men had been thrown to the ground, as their horses perished or reared up in their pain, and some of those men had taken sore hurt or lay dead. And one of those who lay on the ground wore no armour, and bore no sword, for it was a woman. She had been well protected by the shields of her retainers but they had not been able to shield her horse; an arrow had struck it in the throat and sank deep, and it had fallen, and the rider had struck the ground hard and now lay very still.

Lothíriel.


	3. What a night for the Dancing Dead

Author's note: this isn't the final chapter but the story is finished. I will be posting the concluding chapter, and the Epilogue, in the next few days.

**Part Three: What a night for the Dancing Dead**

_What a night though it's one of seven_

_What a night for the dancing dead_

_What a night to be called to Heaven_

_What a picture to fill your head_

Magnum, _Les Morts Dansant_

Erchirion cradled his fallen sister in his arms and cried out in grief and despair. Her eyes stared blankly at nothing and her head lolled on her broken neck. Amrothos clenched his fists and raised his eyes to the sky.

The leader of the blackf Elves held out a rod of gleaming metal and pointed it at the corpse. She spoke a phrase in her incomprehensible language and a beam of light shone forth from the rod and briefly illuminated Lothíriel's face. Erchirion looked up, a frown of anger forming on his face, and opened his mouth to speak…

…and then Lothíriel squirmed in Erchirion's arms and sat up.

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"You have a Rod of Resurrection? You kept this secret from us?" Kyoroth queried, her tone accusing. "Why did you not raise Zar'quiri, or those who fell against the Eldreth Veluuthra? And now you waste its charges on strangers."

"I did not have it then, fool," Laelryne snapped. "Sharlarra obtained it for me shortly before we departed from Faerûn. Now cease your prattle. We are short of time." She used the Rod again, on one of the fallen Drow, and then on one of the fair-haired _rivvin_ warriors.

"Stop!" Kyoroth cried. "It must be kept only for us." She grabbed hold of Laelryne and tried to pull the Rod of Resurrection from her grasp.

A hand closed on the back of Kyoroth's neck and lifted her up into the air. "Cease, foolish one," Cierre growled, "or I will make you regret your actions."

Laelryne gave Cierre a nod of thanks and at once continued with her task. She used the Rod twice more, again alternating between Drow and _rivvin_ dead, and then tried to use it again but failed. "It is drained," she said. "Sharlarra warned me that it had but few charges remaining."

"And you wasted three of them on _rivvin_," Kyoroth spat out, as she struggled futilely in Cierre's iron grip.

"I have no time for argument," Laelryne said. "The desert riders are hanging back for the moment, seemingly confused, but they may charge once more at any time. And they outnumber our combined forces by more than two to one."

"Shall I snap her neck, Jabbress?" Cierre asked. Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost unemotional, and Laelryne had no doubt that if she gave her assent Cierre would kill Kyoroth upon the instant.

"No, do not harm her," Laelryne said. "She was my friend once and I hope that she will be once again. This is not her true self."

"As you wish," Cierre said. She tossed Kyoroth away, sending the smaller Drow stumbling, and went back to watching the enemy horsemen.

The knights were trying to speak to Laelryne but she ignored them for the moment. "Tebolvir!" she called. "What happened to the Fireball? It had but small effect."

"The Weave seems to be weaker here, Jabbress," the wizard replied. "Half strength at best. What should have killed instead inflicted only surface burns."

"Will other spells be the same? Would Cloudkill still be lethal, for instance?"

"I suspect not," Tebolvir said. "I would estimate it would become merely Stinking Cloud."

Laelryne grimaced. "And Stoneskin act as if it were Barkskin?"

"Very likely," Tebolvir confirmed.

"This will necessitate a change in tactics," Laelryne said, "and there is no time to think it through. We cannot fight cavalry in the open. We must find a defensive position."

"The wagons," Cierre suggested, her words overlapping with those of Laelryne saying the same thing.

Laelryne shot Cierre a brief smile and then turned to the _rivvin_ knights who had been trying in vain to attract her attention. "Your pardon," she said in the _darthiiri_ tongue. "I will answer your questions later but right now we must move, and quickly, to the wagons."

"She is right," said the younger knight. "With a third of the men unhorsed we cannot match the Haradrim upon the open field." Few of those who had lost their horses in the charge had thought to seize the mounts of their fallen foes and, by now, the remaining loose horses had galloped off to join their fellows in the main body of the Haradrim host.

"Indeed so," said the elder knight. He barked out orders to his men and then turned to his brother. "Not you, Amrothos," he said. "Take four men, ride back the way we came, and get help."

"Why me?" Amrothos asked. "I should stay with you and Lothíriel."

"Your armour gives you perhaps the best chance of getting through," Erchirion explained.

"As does yours," Amrothos pointed out, but then he shrugged. "I know, you must stay to command. Very well, brother, I will go. Try not to get yourself killed in my absence." He swung himself up into the saddle of his war-horse. "Ohtar, Devorin, Déorbrand, and Baldheort, with me!" he called, naming two Swan Knights and two of the Rohirrim. "We ride west to bring the éoreds of Rohan to the aid of our fellows."

Laelryne wanted to ask what aid they were to bring, and how far off it was to be found, but there was no time. She guessed that the departure of the riders would trigger a charge by the desert men, as would movement by the party on foot toward the wagons, and knew that the two actions must be synchronised. She issued rapid orders to her folk and stood poised to move.

"To the wagons!" Erchirion commanded. "Amrothos, ride!"

"_Mumbaro_!" Laelryne shouted.

At once the two groups, Men and Drow, burst into action. Amrothos and his four chosen companions galloped west; the remaining riders moved to screen those on foot from the threat of the Haradrim horsemen. In so doing they also screened the Haradrim from the Drow crossbows and from Cierre's deadly longbow. Meanwhile those on foot made for the wagons as fast as they could run. Cierre snatched up the pregnant Srulauthe and, holding her as easily as if she had been a small child, still managed to outdistance everyone else.

And, as Laelryne had expected, the desert men responded. Thirty of them set off in pursuit of the five who rode for help. The remainder split into two groups; one headed for the wagons, to deny their shelter to the party on foot, and the other charged to the attack. They loosed a shower of arrows as they came.

The two opposing bodies of horsemen clashed. Rohirrim and Swan Knights faced Haradrim, thirty-seven versus a hundred and twenty, and they had the worst of it for each Westerner was set upon by two or three of the Southrons. Fair-haired Riders, and armoured Men in swan-crested helms, fell from their saddles. The wings of the Haradrim enveloped the Men of the West and swept around behind them.

"_Plynn lindith_," Laelryne shouted, and the crossbows in the hands of her folflowers were raised and aimed, "_lu'bneir'pak_!" A volley of bolts tore into the Haradrim riders and their horses. The momentum of their charge faltered.

Then Cierre reached Lothíriel's carriage, set Srulauthe down, and unslung her bow. And the Haradrim learned the lesson that the Eldreth Veluuthra had learned in Faerûn; when Cierre held her bow she held also the power of life and death over all within two hundred yards.

Tebolvir sent an Ice Storm down upon the heads of those who would bar their way. A mage of his power would expect to slay several with an Ice Storm unless his targets were well protected by wards. Here none died. The balls of ice were softer, and struck with less force, than in Faerûn. Some of the targeted Haradrim fell, stunned, from their steeds; horses reared in panic, lost their footing on the icy ground, and went down with injuries to horses and riders resulting; none of the warriors, however, were slain by the spell.

Then Tebolvir's apprentice Ridoorl followed up his master's spell with a Fireball. Again its effect was less than lethal, at least directly, but it caused painful burns, temporarily blinded some within its area of effect, and a dozen of the Haradrim lost control of their panicked steeds and were thrown or carried off as the horses fled. Two horses collided and went down; one rider was pitched head-first into the solid wood of a wagon side and broke his neck. One of those who had fallen was trampled to death by blinded horses unable to avoid the men on the ground.

The cumulative effect of the two spells was far less deadly than it would have been in Faerûn but it was enough to achieve the desired result. The Haradrim formation was disrupted and the warriors were demoralised; once Cierre shifted her aim and slew four of them in quick succession, and the main body of the Drow passed the coach and headed for the wagons with crossbows levelled, the barring force broke and fled.

At Erchirion's direction the dead horse was cut from the traces of the carriage and, pulled by the remaining horse and pushed from behind by the surviving wagon drivers, the coach was moved to where the wagons stood. One of the wagon teams, spooked by the spells, had broken free of their traces and fled. That wagon was left in place and the others were moved, with desperate haste, to form the other walls of a defensive circle.

Two of those injured Haradrim who had not managed to flee were seized, as they lay unconscious, and taken captive; all who tried to resist were slain on the spot.

There was then a period of respite, as the Haradrim had withdrawn in disorder, and Laelryne was able to take stock of the situation. Three of her people had fallen during the retreat to the wagons, pierced by the arrows of the desert men or cut down by their scimitars, and a few more had been wounded. The _rivvin_ had suffered far greater losses.

Half of those who had fought mounted, striving against three times their number, had perished. Several more had died fighting on foot. Laelryne had counted sixty armed men, including the two knights who commanded them, when she had first approached the convoy. Five had gone for help. Only twenty-seven now remained. Forty-two of the original forty-eight Drow still lived. Sixty-nine warriors in total, plus the noble _rivvil_ female Lothíriel and six non-combatant servants and drivers, to face – how many of the desert men?

"Cierre," Laelryne requested, "count for me how many of our foes remain, for your eyes are sharper than mine."

"_A'dos quarth, Jabbress_," Cierre assented. She leapt up onto a wagon bed, longbow in hand, and stared out at the horsemen. Her lips moved as she counted. "I count one hundred and sixty-six," she declared, jumping down again, "but I saw that more than two dozen set off in pursuit of the young knight and his men. If those return then we will face at least a hundred and ninety."

"And there were some three hundred when you first saw them," Laelryne said. Her lips tightened. "We were outnumbered three to one then and that remains unchanged. Still, at least now we have a defensive position."

"And we still don't know the cause in which we are dying," Kyoroth said, her tone one of bitterness.

"Then," said Laelryne, turning toward where Erchirion was bending over one of the Haradrim prisoners, "let us find out."

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"So they seek to capture the princess, believing that if they hold a knife to her throat they will be granted safe passage through your country," Laelryne said. "Careless of them, then, to slay her in the first clash."

"No doubt they assumed that she was safe within the carriage," said Prince Erchirion. "Their women, to the best of my knowledge, are kept in seclusion and would not be riding with the Men. The prisoners speak the truth. Their objective is to seize my sister and use her to force King Elessar to allow them passage."

"So," said Laelryne, "that explains why we have not driven them off despite the losses they have suffered. They believe that their lives depend on victory."

Erchirion shook his head. "They could have gone home at any time if they had simply surrendered," he said. "The War is long over. All the prisoners from Harad, Khand, and Rhûn were sent back to their own countries after the fall of Barad-dûr. We took from them only their weapons. The same would have happened to these had they come openly to either the Rohirrim or the Men of Gondor. But not now, after this unprovoked attack. They have sealed their own doom."

"No doubt their Captains have lied to them and told them that we would slay or torture them," said Lothíriel, "and I do not think that we could convince them otherwise."

"Then we must slay them," said Laelryne, "or at least hold out until your fellows return with a relief force. How long will that be, do you think?"

Erchirion pursed his lips. "There was no force of Riders in the last village we passed through that could stand against the numbers that now threaten us. They will have to gather Men from several villages, I fear, or else send to Edoras where the éoreds of Éomer King's household are stationed. Either way it will be two days, I would estimate, before we can expect help – unless they encounter an éored on patrol against the depredations of the remaining Orcs. Or another supply convoy, or a party of travellers, may come along the road and happen upon us."

"We may be besieged for two days?" Laelryne shook her head. "We will need luck as well as skill to endure so long."

"And we will need latrines," said Cierre.

Laelryne laughed. "Indeed so. But it is our defences to which we must look first." She issued a string of orders to her followers. "They could attack again at any time," she remarked to the _rivvin_ commander. "In fact I am surprised that they have not done so already. By delaying they have given us valuable time to get our defences organised."

"I suspect that they were thrown into confusion by the fire and ice that your people rained down upon them," Erchirion said. He frowned as he saw Drow crawling under the wagons. "How will your people be able to fight from there?" he asked.

"That is the advantage of our crossbows," Laelryne said. "They can be operated in a space far too cramped for one to bend a bow. The disadvantage is that they lack range. But at longer ranges…" she pointed at her tall companion, "we have Cierre."

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"Horsemen approach," Cierre reported. She spoke in Sy'Tel'Quesiiri so that she could be understood by the _rivvin_. "They are of the desert men." Her lips moved as she counted. "Twenty-four of them, and they lead seven spare horses. One of the horses resembles those ridden by our fair-haired allies."

"Then they are those who pursued the ones who rode seeking help," Laelryne deduced, "and they must have caught our friends. There will be no rescue force."

Erchirion bowed his head. "And my brother is dead."

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"Éomer King!" The village thane stared wide-eyed at the throng of horses and Men. "Is there war once more? Shall I sound the call to arms?"

"There is no war, only an incursion by a single band of Southrons," Éomer reassured the thane, "but we ride in pursuit of them in great haste. They intend to attack the party of Princess Lothíriel."

"The princess? We saw her as they passed through this village," said the thane. "There were sixty warriors with her. Are there, then, so many Southrons that they can attack so large a force?"

"Three hundred," said Éomer, "or so we guess from their tracks."

"Béma!" exclaimed the thane. "How did such a large body pass through Gondor? Do the Men of Mundburg keep no watch?"

"The Southrons fled north after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields," Éomer explained, "and have been hiding, unsuspected, in the lands of the Dunlendings ever since. Now, we believe, they plan to seize the princess and use her as a hostage to buy passage back to their own country."

"My sons and I are at your command, Éomer King," the thane offered. "Give us but a moment to don armour and swords."

"It is not Men that I need, but horses," Éomer said. "We have ridden far and fast, and ride on all through the night, and we pause here only to feed and water our steeds. Some of the horses show signs of tiring. I would leave them here and take fresh horses in their stead."

"Of course, my King," said the thane. "Béma grant that you reach the princess in time."

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Amrothos struggled to his feet. Searing agony shot through his head with the movement and he felt his stomach twist and protest. He fumbled with his helm and pulled it free only seconds before he began to vomit.

He felt no better once his stomach was empty. His head throbbed with piercing stabs of pain, he was dizzy, and his vision was blurred. There was pain from his lower back, too, and he reached back with a hand and discovered an arrow lodged there. It had not penetrated deeply through his armour but an attempt to pull it free resulted only in fresh agony that dropped him to his knees. After a moment to recover himself he snapped the shaft of the arrow, as close to his armour as he could manage, so that if he fell on his back he did not drive it deeper into his body. The action caused him renewed pain but removed that potentially deadly danger.

He picked up his helm, discarded when the spasms of vomiting had struck him, and examined it. The steel was scored and deeply dented. No doubt it had saved his life, turning a fatal blow into one that had merely robbed him of his senses, and the Haradrim had assumed that he was dead.

He lived but he was wounded, afoot, and many miles from aid. It seemed his mission had failed, and there would be no rescue for his sister and brother, but he had no alternative but to press on. He could only hope that the valiant Men of the escort force, and the strange black Elves who had joined with them, could hold out long enough.

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Laelryne blocked a scimitar's slash with her shield and her sword licked out in deadly reply. The desert warrior toppled from his horse. She glanced around. Behind her Tebolvir had put up a Wall of Flame which was deterring the attackers; unfortunately it merely diverted them to other parts of the ring of wagons.

To her right one of the attackers leapt his horse over a wagon's tongue, entering the circle, but Cierre barred the man's path. The tall Ranger cleaved through the horse's right front leg, sending the beast crashing to the ground, and the rider was thrown free. Cierre fell upon the man before he could rise and brought her hand-axe down in a vicious blow that shattered his skull. She then delivered a mercy blow to silence the thrashing and screaming horse and moved on to face a new opponent.

To her left Laelryne saw five desert men jumping down from their horses onto one of the wagons. A tall fair-haired _rivvil_ met them with sword and shield and felled one before being himself hacked down. Laelryne ran to plug the gap but saw that Kyoroth was ahead of her.

Kyoroth vaulted up onto the wagon bed and ducked under a swinging scimitar. She retaliated with an upward slash that laid her attacker open from crotch to navel. Kyoroth brought her blade down on the next man's head, splitting his skull, and then delivered a thrust that pierced a third man's chain hauberk and drove through into his heart. The last of the desert men launched himself at her, scimitar swinging, and died with the point of her sword in his throat.

Then, as Kyoroth stood alone on a wagon now cleared of foes, an arrow smote her in the eye and sank in deep. She dropped dead on the instant.

Laelryne wailed in anguish. Her friend had redeemed herself but died with the breach between them still unhealed. She reached the wagon and climbed atop it just as another desert warrior jumped down from his horse. The man was off balance upon landing; Laelryne gave him no chance to recover but struck before he could defend himself. For once, overcome by rage and grief, she used more than the minimum necessary effort to kill and she sent the _rivvil's_ head flying from his shoulders.

She expected an immediate shower of arrows and so dropped to her knees, sheltering behind the side of the wagon, with her shield raised to protect her face. A couple of arrows whistled by but did not come close. Feet thudded onto the wood behind her and she spun, sword coming up, but held back her stroke as she saw that it was one of the knights who wore helms with swan emblems.

Laelryne looked to the front again and saw one of the horse-archers bending his bow with the arrow aimed at her. She ducked down, raising her shield, and deflected the arrow without harm. Before the rider could loose another shaft he was struck in the face by a crossbow bolt from within the wagon circle. He reeled in the saddle, dropped his bow, and spurred his horse away. A horse went down, spilling its rider in the dirt, and the man next to him wheeled his horse and galloped off.

And suddenly all the desert men were turning, abandoning their assault, and retreating. A cheer went up from the human defenders and, from the Drow, a great shout of "_Ultrinnan_!"

Laelryne picked up the body of Kyoroth, descended from the wagon, and carried Kyoroth into the centre of the circle. She laid down her fallen comrade and stood up straight. "Cierre!" she called. "Count our foes. I must know how many remain."

"_Izil dos quarth, Jabbress_," Cierre assented, and she climbed onto the top of a wagon and looked out over the battlefield.

"Talindra! Count up our survivors, both Drow and _rivvin_, and then report to me," Laelryne commanded. There was no reply.

"Talindra is dead, Jabbress," Tebolvir's apprentice reported. "I shall carry out the tasks."

Laelryne sighed and her head sagged. "Thank you, Ridoorl," she said, straightening. "Kebella?" She waited until she received an answer before continuing. "See to the distribution of healing potions to the wounded. Both to ourselves and to the _rivvin_."

"_Usstan rothrl, Jabbress_," Kebella replied.

The heavily pregnant Srulauthe poked her head out from the coach where Laelryne had insisted that she, together with Lothíriel and her maidservant, shelter during the attack. "I could do that, Jabbress," Srulauthe said. "You will not let me fight but I can still contribute."

"Indeed so," Laelryne said. "Yes, assist Kebella. Ensure that everyone gets sufficient to heal their wound, and no more, so that the more powerful potions are conserved."

"_Usstan nym'uer lu'rothrl_." Srulauthe descended from the coach and moved off to perform her task.

Only then did Laelryne allow her tears to flow.

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Amrothos searched the ground for his sword. The sun had dipped below the horizon and it was hard to see in the gathering gloom; his blurred vision made his search more difficult. He had cast aside his shield, to save weight, but the sword was essential in case he encountered a band of the Orcs that still sometimes came down by night from fastnesses in the Ered Nimraith.

He found a sword but it was not his own. The body of its owner, hacked by many scimitar blows, lay nearby; Ohtar, the veteran Swan Knight. The widow in Rohan would mourn for a second time. Amrothos had known the man almost all his life but there was no time now for grief. He took up Ohtar's sword, sheathed it, and turned toward the sunset.

The pain in his head was not easing with time but was growing worse. Hardly had he gone a hundred paces when he was struck by another bout of vomiting. When it was over he set off again but found that each step was an effort.

Then he heard a sound; a familiar wicker. "Gilroch!" he called, and whistled. The wicker came again, in answer, and before long a black horse, its brow bearing a white blaze resembling a star, came into sight. "Gilroch!" Amrothos called again. His stallion came to his call, but it was limping heavily, and Amrothos saw that an arrow was protruding from its rump.

Amrothos stroked the horse's nose, praising it for its great heart, and then went to examine the arrow wound. He grimaced, and started to shake his head, but a stab of pain halted the motion. There was no way that he would be able to withdraw the shaft without assistance; any attempt would most likely result in either causing greater injury to the horse or causing it to panic and run off. The arrow would have to remain in the wound, even though it would probably make the injury worse, and he had no option but to ride the horse despite its wound. Even lamed it would still make a better pace than he could manage on foot in his current condition.

Uninjured Amrothos could vault into the saddle, in full armour, with ease. In his present state it took him several attempts to clamber onto the horse. Once astride he turned the horse to the west and set off at the best speed the horse could manage. Perhaps he still might be able to bring aid in time.

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"Twelve dead, Jabbress," Ridoorl reported, "seven Drow and five _rivvin_. Thirty-five of us live still, and twenty-two of the _rivvin_ warriors, but the Prince has equipped the wagon drivers with armour and weapons from the dead. There are sixty-two in total to face the foe – although that includes Srulauthe and you have said that she is not to fight."

"We slew over forty of the desert riders," Cierre said. "I count one hundred and forty-three of them and some of those are wounded."

"Fewer than half of those who began the battle," said Laelryne. "I am amazed that they have not yet given up."

"They cannot," said Erchirion, "for they believe that only death awaits them unless they can take Lothíriel hostage. They will attack again."

"The sun is setting," Laelryne observed. "If they come by night we will make them pay dearly, for those of us with white hair can see in the dark as well as you can see by day, and even those of us with black hair have eyes far sharper by night than any Men."

"I do not think that they will launch another assault during the night," Erchirion said, "but they may send in small groups on foot to try to slay some of our sentries."

"Then they will fail," Laelryne said, "and perish in the attempt."

"No doubt," said Erchirion. "Your people are superb fighters, and your wizards have powers great and marvellous, and you are a skilled commander."

"Am I?" Laelryne gave a short, mirthless, laugh. "I was a junior officer, eighth in the line of command, and I never thought to be more. Kyoroth, who lies yonder, was tenth. I lead only because all those senior to me are dead. And I may have led my people to destruction. We thought only to find a safe haven, somewhere free from war, where we could live in peace. The auguries that we cast promised that this would be such a place. What a bitter jest fate has played upon us."

"And indeed the war here is over," Erchirion said. "The Dark Lord has fallen and the Free Peoples of the world have the chance to live in peace and harmony. Those who attack us are but a remnant of the Dark Lord's followers, still enchained by his lies, and there are few such remaining. If we win through this fight there will be a home for you in Dol Amroth, or here in Rohan, and you will be held in great honour."

"Thank you," said Laelryne, "but first we must survive. I suggest that your Men sleep first. It was still morning by the time of our world when we met you, and we need less sleep than your kind, and we are not as tired as you must be. We will handle the night watch. Let your Men keep their cooking fires small lest they spoil our night vision."

"Sound advice," said Erchirion, "and I shall follow it." He headed off across the circle.

Laelryne stayed where she was, bowed her head, and stared down at Kyoroth's body.

Lothíriel climbed down from the carriage and stood beside her. "You brought me back from death, or so my brother tells me," Lothíriel said. "Can you not do the same for the other fallen?"

Laelryne shook her head. "I used a Rod of Resurrection and it had only a limited number of charges. They are all gone and the Rod is now nothing more than a decorative piece of ivory and gold. Those who are dead now must stay dead – unless the priests of your world can perform Resurrections?"

Now it was Lothíriel's turn to shake her head. "That you could revive me was a marvel beyond anything of which I have ever heard," she said. "No-one in this world can bring back the dead."

"I deduced as much from the amazement that your brothers displayed when I Raised you," Laelryne said. "I will, then, never have the chance to make my peace with Kyoroth and to tell her how proud I was of her at the last."

"Perhaps… in Valinor," Lothíriel suggested.

"That is your Afterlife?"

"For Elves, yes," said Lothíriel.

"There will be no Afterlife for us," Laelryne said. "Our goddess is dead and we refuse to transfer our allegiance to any other. Nothing awaits us but imprisonment in the Wall of the Faithless until our souls are destroyed."

"Surely the Valar would not be so cruel," Lothíriel said.

"Our gods would," said Laelryne. "Only Eilistraee was truly good and kind – but she is dead." She looked down at Kyoroth again, barely managing to hold back her tears, and then turned away. "I must consult with Tebolvir," she said, and walked off.

"Sweet Valar," Lothíriel prayed, "these Elves are your creatures too. Do not let the fallen suffer the fate Laelryne fears."

There was, of course, no answer.

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They sang quietly, so as not to disturb those of the humans who had already settled down to sleep, and they retained some clothing as they were aware that _rivvin_ often had problems with nudity. Even so their dance was a joy to behold.

"It's beautiful," Lothíriel remarked. "What do the words mean?"

"We dance," Laelryne translated. "The moonlight gleams on our polished swords, it gleams on our smooth black skin, and on our silver hair. In the joy of the dance we can forget our cares for the moment. Nothing matters but the dance."

"Beautiful," Lothíriel said again. "Dancing is important to your people?"

"It is how we honour our goddess – or did, before she died," Laelryne said. "Now we dance to forget. So many mistakes, so many deaths, so much misery." She heaved a sigh, paused, and then began to eat. "The food is… palatable," she commented. "We had a halfling cook at the Promenade who could make even trail rations into a dish fit for a princess."

"Halflings are, indeed, devoted to food," Erchirion agreed. "They are greatly honoured here after the deeds of Frodo and Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrine in the Ring War."

"I honoured Meryl greatly too, and was very fond of her," said Laelryne. "She is dead now, of course."

There was a lull in the conversation, with only the singing breaking the silence, and then a hideous scream sounded from outside the wagon circle.

Erchirion leapt to his feet. "What was that?" he cried.

Laelryne paused with a morsel of food half-way to her mouth. "Relax," she said. "That was a _rivvil_ – a human – screaming. One of the desert people's scouts met one of mine."

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It was around midnight, Laelryne guessed, assuming that the lengths of day and night were the same in this world as in Toril. Most of the humans had gone to sleep while the Drow stood guard. She had ordered Tebolvir and Ridoorl to sleep, too, so that they could regain spells. There had been no activity from the Haradrim in the last couple of hours; not since Kebella and the former Vhaeraunite rogue Ilmryn had intercepted two scouts sneaking in, beheaded them, and stuck their heads upon poles.

Now Kebella approached. "Jabbress," she reported, "there is activity to the south. A force approaches on foot."

"Size? Composition?" Laelryne asked.

"More than there are of us, I would say, but not by a great number," Kebella said. "Seventy or eighty, perhaps, possibly up to a hundred. They seem to be a mob rather than a disciplined force. Humanoids, probably. If they are _rivvin_ then they are barbarians."

"The natives of this area are the horse-riding Rohirrim," Laelryne said. "I think they are more likely to be humanoids. I will consult with Prince Erchirion. Inform me as soon as you know more."

"_Usstan rothrl_," Kebella replied, and headed off.

Laelryne sought out the prince. He was still awake, sitting against a wheel of the coach in which his sister slept. "My scouts have detected a force on foot approaching from the south," Laelryne told him. "I doubt, from what you have said, that they can be the Rohirrim. What else might they be in these parts?"

"Orcs!" Erchirion spat out, coming to his feet. "There are still nests of the vermin in the Ered Nimraith, lurking there, and sometimes descending to steal livestock or attack small communities. How many?"

"Kebella thinks something between seventy and a hundred," Laelryne said.

"So many? That must be two or three bands combined," Erchirion said. "They have observed our fight and are coming down to scavenge like buzzards."

"And the desert men can simply ride away, leaving us as the only target for the Orcs," said Laelryne. "So we face another fight that we cannot avoid."

"I fear that is the case," said Erchirion. "I shall wake my Men."

"And I shall gather my people," said Laelryne. "Kebella will return soon with an accurate assessment of this new foe and then we can plan the fight."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Amrothos slumped forward onto the horse's neck. The pain in his head was getting even worse and he was on the verge of unconsciousness. He wrapped the reins around his hands, hoping that it would keep him from falling off if he passed out, and looked ahead for any sign of lights that might indicate a village. It was useless. His vision was so blurred that he could not tell if he did indeed see lights or if he was seeing the moon and the stars. All he could do was try to stay conscious and keep the horse moving along the road.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"They are indeed Orcs," Kebella reported, "and they number eighty, as closely as we can count. They move around a lot, keeping to no fixed formation, and it is hard to be precise."

"That is sufficient," said Laelryne. "How are they armed and armoured?"

"Some have hauberks of chain or scale, but most have only hide armour or none at all," said Kebella. "Two, chieftains no doubt, wear plate and mail. They bear an assortment of weapons; a few pole-arms, some spears, battle-axes and scimitars. Perhaps a score of them carry bows."

"Kill the archers first," said Laelryne. "The prince tells me that the Orcs of this world have no such skilled leaders as Obould Many-Arrows of our world. They may not think to pick up the bows from the fallen. I want you to lead a team of ten to go out to meet them. Pick off a few, fall back, and pick off a few more. Do not get close enough to risk capture. When you are pushed back to within arrow shot of the wagons break off and come back inside as quickly as you can."

"I understand," Kebella said. "Am I to choose my own team?"

"Yes," said Laelryne, "but you are not to take Cierre. I want her here in case the desert people stab us in the back as we fight the Orcs."

"Wait," said Erchirion. "I propose to lead a cavalry charge against the Orcs. There is moonlight enough for us to fight."

"Is that wise?" asked Laelryne. "It could give the desert men an opening to get into the circle."

"True," said Erchirion, "but I think they will stay clear of the fight except perhaps to loose arrows at both sides. It would be to their advantage to hang back and let us be weakened with no cost to themselves. And nothing else will drive off the Orcs as fast as cavalry. It will be only a single charge and then an immediate withdrawal. I will not allow my Men to become embroiled in a sustained fight. If the Orcs maintain a close formation then we will not charge."

"If they keep in a tight body then Tebolvir can drop spells upon them and wreak havoc," Laelryne said. "Very well, then. Kebella, you must break to the sides to leave a road for the horsemen."

"I understand," said Kebella. "_Usstan zhal xun 'zil dos quarth_."

"I have an idea," said Erchirion. "I shall detail a single rider to break away, as we retire from the charge, and ride for help. The Haradrim may not notice him, or be too far away to pursue successfully, and he might well get clear. Their numbers are so reduced now that if he could bring even twenty or thirty Riders from the village that would bolster our forces sufficiently for us to be sure of holding out. A messenger from the village could ride for Edoras to bring a larger force to destroy or drive off the Haradrim and break the siege."

"A worthwhile idea indeed," said Laelryne. "How soon then might we expect help?"

"Between mid-morning and noon, I would estimate," Erchirion said, "if there are enough Riders at the village to form a relief force. If there are too few, though, we will have to wait longer. A mere handful would perish to no purpose. I did not count the Men when we passed through the village, and none of the Rohirrim in the escort hail from this area, so I can only guess at how many there might be. We can but hope."

"And act," said Laelryne, "and our first action must be to kill the Orcs."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

A volley of crossbow bolts, and shafts loosed by the human archers, tore into the advancing Orcs and they wavered. Men heaved aside a wagon, opening a gateway, and Erchirion led his riders thundering forth. Their levelled spears smote home, Orcs were struck through, and the Men drew swords in place of the spears. The horsemen cut a swath through the Orcs, and emerged from the rear of the formation, but they did not make their passage unscathed. Two horses and three riders went down.

"Turn about!" Erchirion ordered. "Dúnhere, ride west!" The formation wheeled around. Dúnhere, the Rohir designated to ride for help, split off and galloped away.

"The desert men charge!" Cierre's voice rang out in warning.

"Erchirion!" Laelryne shouted as loudly as she could. "The Haradrim charge! Return quickly!" She turned to the rear. "Cierre, slow them as much as you can. Tebolvir, the _rivvin_ are a greater threat than the remaining Orcs. Go to the north side of the circle and reinforce Ridoorl. Dau'ne, Jhanil, Bhaerl, go with him."

A fresh volley from the Drow crossbows raked the Orcs and then the cavalry struck again. They sliced through the Orcs, mowing them down, and this time only one rider fell. The Orcs were slaughtered. The few survivors, scarcely more than a dozen, fled to the south. The cavalry rode back at speed.

And then the Haradrim unleashed a storm of arrows that rained down within the circled wagons. Several defenders, caught in the open, were struck and fell dead.

One of them was Tebolvir.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Nine more Drow dead," Laelryne said, "and seven Men. One Man has left to seek help. That leaves… forty-four combatants. Twenty-five Drow, and nineteen Men, plus Princess Lothíriel, Srulauthe, and Lothíriel's maidservant. And Tebolvir's death has taken away much of our ability to inflict damage on many of the foe at once. His spells were less deadly here than back in Faerûn but were still the best weapon we had." She clenched her teeth tightly together before speaking again. "And I have lost another dear friend."

"He was your… lover?" Lothíriel asked.

Laelryne shook her head. "Just a good friend," she replied. "I had not known him for very long. Until a short time ago we would have been enemies. But I soon came to respect him greatly for his intelligence and wisdom and I learned that the differences between us were of no importance." She heaved a sigh. "Oh, Lady Silverhair, why did you kill your brother? Had you reconciled with him instead then everything would have been so much better."

Lothíriel and Erchirion stared at her, their eyebrows raised, and then Lothíriel opened her mouth to speak. A shout from the eastern edge of the circle interrupted her.

"The rider returns! He is pursued!"

"Cierre!" Laelryne shouted. "Loose at the pursuers! Give him protection."

"_Usstan rothrl, Jabbress_," Cierre replied, and raced off to find a vantage point.

"Open the gate," Erchirion commanded. The wagon was shoved aside once more and, a short time later, the rider galloped into the circle.

"I have failed you, Erchirion Prince," Dúnhere reported. "There were eight Southrons encamped on the road to the east. They were already mounting their steeds as I approached and I could not get past them. They moved to stay ahead of me, loosing arrows, and then more emerged from the main body and came towards me from behind. I saw no choice but to return before I was cut off and slain. I am sorry."

He was wounded. His beard was red with blood from a gash that ran across his cheek. An arrow was lodged in his right shoulder; another was sticking out of his shield.

"You did not fail," Erchirion said. "You did all that you could. To fight and die would have been pointless. We needed to know that you had not got through. You did the right thing by returning."

"What did he say?" Laelryne asked, for the Rohir had spoken in Westron and she had not understood. Erchirion translated into Sindarin. "Ah," Laelryne said. "A picket outpost to give them warning if a relief force approaches."

"Indeed so," said Erchirion. "I should have known. No doubt there is one to the east as well." He stared out into the darkness. "Perhaps I should have sent more Men. Five, perhaps, might have managed to break through."

"To send more would have weakened us too much," said Laelryne. "A single rider was the right choice. Had the pickets been asleep it would have worked."

"If they were, no doubt the noise from the fight with the Orcs awakened them," said Erchirion. "Damn those Orcs! They did us little harm themselves but their attack has still cost us dear."

"We will be spread thinly now," Laelryne said. She saw Cierre nearby and summoned the Ranger over. "How many of the enemy did you slay, Cierre?"

"I emptied eight saddles when they attacked as you fought the Orcs," Cierre reported, "and I slew a further three of those who pursued the messenger." She switched to Drow. "It is a shame that the fair-haired _rivvin_ do not speak the _darthiiri_ tongue. I would like to fuck one of them – or, indeed, three or four of them – but having to explain what I mean by gesturing with my hands would be too laborious."

Laelryne laughed. "Is this really the right time for that?"

Cierre shrugged. "We might die in a few hours," she said. "I might as well enjoy myself first."

"You would tire out the _rivvin_ males and leave them in no shape to fight," Laelryne said. "Wait until we have defeated the enemy. I am sure that you will be able to find plenty of admiring males who are more than willing to satisfy you."

"No doubt," Cierre said. "Well, if I am not to fuck, I will check my weapons and armour ready for the next fight."

"She is a remarkable archer," Erchirion commented, as Cierre walked off. "Perhaps even a match for the renowned Legolas Greenleaf. I would dearly like to see a match between them."

"We must defeat our foes before we can think of entertainment," said Laelryne, "as I was just saying to Cierre. Although the entertainment she had in mind was not an archery contest. My people have a saying 'From victory to an inn'. First we must win the battle, and then we can celebrate."

"Winning will not be easy," Erchirion said. "They will attack in the morning. Probably not at dawn, as I believe they will want to assess our remaining strength first, although it would be wise for us to be prepared for an immediate attack. But they will not delay long."

"When they see how few of us remain they will set upon us at once," Laelryne said. "Perhaps we can deceive them and thus deter them for a time."

"How so?" asked Erchirion. "Can your remaining wizard conjure up troops out of nothing?"

"Tebolvir could have done, back in Faerûn, and indeed Ridoorl might do so here, but the summonings would be too weak and stay for too short a time to be of any help," Laelryne answered. "No, I have a simpler solution. We use the dead."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

The silence of the sleeping village was broken as a horse whickered. Gilroch whinnied in answer, announcing to the horses of Rohan that a stallion of Dol Amroth was here, and the local horses replied.

"Men of Rohan!" Amrothos called; or tried to. Barely a whisper came out. He untangled his wrists from the reins and descended from the saddle, more in a fall than in a dismount, and he hit the ground hard. He gathered his strength and clambered to his feet.

"Men of Rohan," he called again, "a friend needs help." He stumbled toward the nearest house, felt his way along the wall until he found the door, and hammered upon it with his mailed fist. Dogs in some of the other houses began to bark.

The door was pulled open to reveal a tall Man, clad in a night-shirt, but holding a sword and with a shield on his arm. "_Hwæt_?" he demanded. "_Hwa eart þu_?"

Amrothos slumped to his knees, overcome by a fresh wave of dizziness, and croaked out a few words.

The householder bent over him. "_He hafað awierdnese_!" he exclaimed. "_Eadgith, cum her_!" He helped Amrothos to his feet and into the house.

A woman, also night-shirt clad, came to join him and peered at Amrothos' head. The two spoke to each other, concern apparent in their voices, but he understood not a word. He tried to explain what had happened but it was obvious that they didn't understand him.

Men emerged from other houses, holding swords and with hauberks pulled on over night-shirts, and came over. Some of them spoke Westron. Amrothos tried to relate his tale but, by now, he was on the verge of unconsciousness and found it difficult to speak coherently. By the time the village thane arrived Amrothos had passed out.

"It is the young Prince of Dol Amroth," said the thane. "What has happened to him?"

"I think his skull is cracked," said one Man. "He has an arrow wound, too."

"Yes, but how?" said the thane.

"He says his party was attacked," someone answered. "I think he said by black Elves."

"Black Elves? I have never heard of such things," said the thane, "and all the Elves who have come to the Riddermark, such as Legolas the mighty archer, have been our friends. But that is not the important thing. The travellers were attacked, that is certain, and there must have been many attackers; there were some forty Riders of the Mark in the escort when they passed through here, and twenty of the knights of Dol Amroth, and only a great number of foes could have troubled them so."

"His horse was also struck by an arrow," a Man called from outside.

The thane stroked his beard. "I do not think the young prince would have fled from a fight," he said. "The Men of Dol Amroth fought valiantly at the Pelennor Fields and saved the lives of many Riders by their actions. No, the elder prince sent this one to fetch aid, I am sure, and we must not fail him. Yet we can muster only…" his lips moved as he counted, "…twenty-two Riders. That would not be enough, against an enemy that would attack sixty, and we cannot leave the village undefended. No, we must ourselves send for help."

"The prince needs a healer," said the Man who had been examining him.

"Indeed. Éadmód, fetch Sigeburh to tend to him. Then fetch Baldfara to see to the horse."

"I am here already," Baldfara spoke up from outside the horse. "It was I who saw that the prince's steed is wounded. The arrow must be removed at once. Already there may be lasting damage and that would be a shame for this is a truly noble stallion."

"Do so, then," said the thane. "Bregdan, arm yourself and then ride for Aethelinga. Tell them to send whatever Riders they can muster here, without delay, and also send messengers to Edoras to inform the King. Guthred, take five Men and ride east. Render aid if you can but do not throw your lives away against great numbers. Bring me back word of what you find out."

Amrothos stirred. "Must get help," he mumbled. "Onward, Gilroch, onward. Too slow… too late." His mutterings became inaudible and he passed once more into unconsciousness.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Eventually they will realise that only half of the crossbows under the wagons are loosing shafts," said Laelryne, "but hopefully not too soon."

"I see the logic behind this," said Erchirion, "but I do not think I could have done the same. It seems to… dishonour the dead."

"Perhaps it does," said Laelryne, "but it is… necessary. The living are more important than the bodies of the dead." She changed the subject abruptly. "I want to get rid of the horses before we fight again."

"Get rid of the horses? But why?" asked Erchirion.

"They take up too much space inside the circle," said Laelryne. "There is little room to manoeuvre. We may have to rush to reinforce a point on the perimeter, if the defenders there are slain, and the horses hamper our movement. Also they may… stampede – is that the word? – if they are injured by arrows. In the first assault some of my people's injuries were caused by the horses. We are unused to them."

"Surely you are not suggesting that we kill the horses," said Erchirion. "The Rohirrim would never permit it."

"Kill them? No, certainly not. Cierre would not permit it either; as a Ranger, ill-treatment of animals is anathema to her. No, I propose only to drive them out of the wagon circle to fend for themselves. You can always… round them up – I think that is the expression – later."

"I would rather take my Men out to fight the Haradrim from horseback," Erchirion said, and then he heaved a sigh. "But I know that if we did they would concentrate on us, until we were all slain, then turn their full force on you. Very well, I shall do as you say. But let us leave it as late as possible."

"Not too late," Laelryne cautioned. "It would not be good for there to be a gap in the wagon wall as the desert people make their charge."

"Then at dawn," said Erchirion. "It might be possible for a Man to sneak out on one of the horses, I suppose, but the risks would be too high."

"True," said Laelryne, "but perhaps we could make the Haradrim think that such an attempt was being made. If one of the horses bore a corpse, tied into the saddle, then they would waste time pursuing it."

"No," said Erchirion, "that I will not permit. If they did not catch the horse it could wander for days with a dead Man tied to its back. Such disrespect for the dead would dishearten my Men so much that it would far outweigh any advantage we gained by your strategy."

"Very well," said Laelryne, "the horses shall run free without dead riders. Now I shall rest, for a while, and I suggest that you do the same. The morning will test us all to the limit."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Éomer King! What good fortune to meet you, and with the hosts of Eorlingas at your back!" The messenger smiled broadly as he bowed his head to the king.

"What news do you bring?" asked Éomer.

"The young prince of Dol Amroth arrived at our village, not an hour past, wounded by arrow and by a blow upon the head," the messenger replied. "Before he fell senseless he spoke of an attack upon his party by Black Elves."

"Black Elves?" Éomer's astonishment was plain. "We have ridden out because we learned that a large force of Southrons was following on the trail of the party from Dol Amroth. Whence came these Black Elves?"

"I know not, my King," the messenger replied. "The young lord was grievously hurt, and his speech was hard to understand, but that is what he seemed to say."

The conversation had been in Rohirric; Éomer translated it, for the benefit of Legolas and Gimli, and then asked "Have you ever heard of Black Elves, friend Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head. "I know of Dark Elves, the _Moriquendi_, but that is only a name given by the Noldor to my ancestors because we did not go to Valinor during the Age of the Trees. If there are such things as Black Elves they must have sundered from the rest of the Elves many long Ages ago. I would think that it was a mistaken reference to Orcs but Imrahil's sons are thoroughly familiar with Orcs, and with Elves, and would not make such an error."

"I know not who these Black Elves might be," said Éomer, gathering his reins in his hands and preparing to urge his horse forward, "or how they relate to the Southrons, but if they have harmed Lothíriel then we shall destroy them. Forth Eorlingas!"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"They are coming," said Erchirion. "You must get back into the coach, Lothíriel."

"If I had known how many deaths would result from this," said Lothíriel, "I would have given myself up to the Southrons. Perhaps I still should. It would spare the rest of you."

"Had you surrendered yourself at the start they would have taken it as a sign of weakness," Laelryne said, "and attacked anyway. It is likely that the same would apply now. Even if they did not attack I would wager that they would try to use threats of harm to you to force us to hand over some of our number; Cierre for one, I am sure, for she has slain many of them and they must burn for revenge. No, we fight and either we die or we win. There is no other way. Now, do as your brother says and get back in the carriage. You too, Srulauthe."

"Very well," said Lothíriel. "And, for all you have done for us, I thank you."

"_Usstan rothrl, Jabbress_," Srulauthe said. She cocked her crossbow and followed Lothíriel into the coach.

The Haradrim advanced but the main body stopped short of arrow range. A detachment some twenty strong continued to advance, at a trot, and began to ride in a circle around the wagons loosing arrows as they rode. Their circle tightened and they drew gradually closer to the wagons.

"What are they doing?" Erchirion wondered.

"They test the range of our crossbows, I think," Laelryne answered. "And, in the process, they will discover our deception with the dead bodies." She raised her voice in command. "Loose no shafts until they are close enough that you cannot miss," she ordered, speaking in Drow. "Leave them to Cierre." She then gave Erchirion a translation.

"The bows of the Rohirrim cannot match theirs for range," Erchirion said, "but we have acquired a number of Haradrim bows from their dead and some of my Men will be able to strike back." He shouted commands and Rohirrim archers began to loose shafts. The range was yet long and none managed to score hits upon the moving targets.

Cierre, however, was well within her effective range. She slew three of the horse-archers in short order. Then the main body of the Haradrim resumed their advance, spurring their horses on at a canter, and the circling group came to a halt. Cierre killed another of them.

"And now they attack," said Erchirion. "Men, stand ready!" Men and Drow prepared themselves for the coming assault.

The Haradrim did not charge home. Instead they halted and unleashed a volley of a hundred arrows all aimed at a single target.

Cierre.

**Glossary of Drow Phrases**

• '_rivvin/rivvil_' = 'human' (plural/singular)

• '_Jabbress_' = 'Commander' (female)

• '_Darthiir_' = 'Surface Elf'

• '_Darthiiri_' = 'Elves/Elven'

• '_Mumbaro_' = 'Move'

• '_Plynn lindith_' = 'Take aim'

• '_lu'bneir'pak_' = 'and shoot'

• '_A'dos quarth_' = 'At your command'

• '_Ultrinnan_' = 'Victory'

• '_Izil dos quarth/'zil dos quarth_' = 'As you command'

• '_Usstan rothrl_' = 'I obey'

• '_Usstan nym'uer lu'rothrl_' = 'I hear and obey'

• '_Usstan zhal xun 'zil dos quarth_' = 'I shall do as you command'

• '_Hwæt?_' (Rohirric) = 'What is it?'

• '_Hwa eart þu?_' (Rohirric) = 'Who are you?'

• '_He hafað awierdnese_' (Rohirric) = 'He is wounded'

• '_cum her_' (Rohirric) = 'Come here'


	4. Brothers in Arms

_There's so many different worlds_

_So many different suns_

_And we have just one world_

_But we live in different ones_

_Now the sun's gone to hell_

_And the moon's riding high_

_Let me bid you farewell_

_Every man has to die_

_But it's written in the starlight_

_And every line on your palm_

_We're fools to make war_

_On our brothers in arms_

Dire Straits, _Brothers In Arms_

**Part Four: Brothers In Arms**

Guthred delivered a downward sword-stroke that laid the last of the Southrons dead on the ground. He pulled his horse to a halt and looked around. "If these Southrons are scouts then they failed in their duty," he said, once he was sure that all five of the foemen had fallen. "We caught them unawares, praise Béma."

"And there is the main body," one of his Men said, pointing out across the plain. "They attack the caravan of the princes of Dol Amroth."

"The fighting has been fierce," said Guthred, "for the field is strewn with the bodies of Men and horses. I see dead Men of the Mark, and knights of Dol Amroth, and many Southrons. Yet the Southrons remaining must number more than an éored."

"I cannot clearly make out those who defend the fortress of wagons," said another Rider, "but it seems to me that some of them may have black skins."

"Then the Black Elves of whom the young prince spoke are aiding his people, not attacking them," said Guthred. "Fréabrand, ride back at once and tell Folcred Thane what we have seen."

"I thought we were all to return with news," said Fréabrand.

"Those were the thane's instructions," Guthred admitted, "but I cannot ride away and leave – forty or so, would you say? – to fight against well over a hundred with no hope of aid. There may be an opening to charge in, smite some of the Southrons down, and break through to join the defenders. It would greatly hearten them, I am sure, to be told that their predicament is known and that help will come. Who is with me?"

All volunteered. "I would charge with you, too," Fréabrand grumbled, "but, I know, this news must be passed on. Should I set off at once?"

"Yes," said Guthred, "for it is best that you be well clear before we move, lest the Southrons see and pursue you. Ride fast!" He watched Fréabrand ride away and then turned his attention to the battlefield. "Now," he said, "we must pick our moment with care. If the Southrons see us too soon they will feather us with arrows before we can charge home. We must wait until their eyes are fixed elsewhere."

"The only thing I can think of that would so draw their attention," said a Rider, "would be if the Southrons break into the circle of wagons. That could mean doom for those inside."

"True," Guthred agreed, "and so we must be ready to act quickly if – Béma! They have made a breach even as we speak. Forward for the Mark!"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

With desperate haste Laelryne cut through Cierre's flesh, inflicting more damage than was necessary but accepting this in the interest of speed, and pulled free the arrows. Cierre had been hit four times and she was unconscious, her breathing was shallow, and she was losing blood at a frightening rate.

"She will not survive, alas," Erchirion said, glancing briefly at the grievously wounded Ranger and then returning his gaze to the fighting at the edge of the circle.

"_Vith nindel_!" Laelryne spat out. She drew out a scroll case from her belt pouch, slid out the scroll, and began to read the words.

"They are through!" Erchirion cried. "With me, knights of Dol Amroth! We must drive them back!" The defenders had been swept from one of the wagons and bearded Haradrim warriors were swarming over it and into the circle. Erchirion led his reserve force, a mere four Swan Knights, forward to plug the gap. Laelryne's equivalent group did not yet move.

Cierre opened her eyes. "_Vith, nindel zhahus zolarix_," she muttered, and sat up.

Laelryne dropped the now blank scroll of Heal on the ground and drew her sword. "Ridoorl!" she called. "Assist them!" She pointed with her blade.

The young wizard responded by casting Gedlee's Electric Loop on those Haradrim engaged with the Swan Knights. Men yelped in pain as the shocking charge leapt from one to another. One fell unconscious, another froze rigid and could make no move to defend himself as a Swan Knight drove a sword through his chest, and three more Southrons dropped their scimitars and were left unarmed. Yet still more were swarming over the wagon.

"My bow!" Cierre cried. She had gone to pick up her fallen bow and found that a Haradrim arrow had split the wood and ruined the weapon. "_Dos vith'ez rivvin iblith_!" She bared her teeth and, not even bothering to draw her sword and axe, she charged. She pounced upon one of the disarmed Haradrim, wrenched his head around until his neck snapped, and hoisted the body above her head. Then Cierre hurled the corpse at the warriors atop the wagon and bowled them over.

Erchirion and his knights were amazed by the sight. Not only had Cierre been on the verge of death only seconds earlier but, as Laelryne had had to cut Cierre's armour and tunic away in order to extract the arrows, she was naked to the waist and covered in blood. It took every ounce of their professionalism and self-control for them to be able to wrench their eyes away and continue the fight. The Haradrim were not so disciplined and were gawping wide-eyed at Cierre even as they were cut down.

"i_Ultrinnan_/i!" Cierre yelled. She bent down to seize the Southron who had been dropped unconscious by the Gedlee's Electric Loop spell, just as he recovered his senses and began to climb to his feet, and held him up by the throat.

"Cierre! _Skrel fol xxilfet pholor, dos vith'ez vigh elg'caress_!" ('Put some armour on, you fucking crazy bitch!') Laelryne shouted. Cierre laughed, bashed in her captive's skull against the nearest wagon wheel, and cast the body aside. She scooped up a bow and quiver from the ground and ran back to rejoin Laelryne.

The knights scrambled up onto the wagon, swept clean of the Haradrim by the corpse hurled by Cierre, and braced themselves for the next onslaught. It did not come. Instead five fair-haired horsemen charged into the rear of the Haradrim force, hewing right and left, taking the Southrons completely by surprise.

"For the Mark!" they cried as they slew. "Forth Eorlingas!" The Southrons scattered, leaving a path for them, and some began to gallop away. Others followed and in moments they were in general retreat. Unfortunately they rallied, once reaching the area where they had camped overnight, and came to a halt rather than continuing to flee. They did not, however, resume their assault.

The five Rohirrim reached the wagons, dismounted, and slapped their horses on the rumps to send them running off. "_Wes ðu hal_," Guthred greeted the defenders, as he climbed over a wagon and jumped down inside the circle. "We have come. You are not alone."

Erchirion descended from the wagon on which he had just taken up a position. "Well met," he greeted, and clasped Guthred by the arm. "I am Erchirion of Dol Amroth."

"Guthred Guthbrandsson at your service," the Rohir introduced himself.

"This is Laelryne of the Drow," Erchirion continued, "whose people arrived to save us at our moment of greatest peril."

"The Black Elves?" Guthred dipped his head to Laelryne. "We wondered whence they came. The young prince spoke of an attack, and of Black Elves, and we thought he meant that they had been the attackers. But he was sore hurt and his speech was not clear. I see now his real meaning."

"My brother? He lives?"

"He does, Lord, although, as I said, he is wounded. He reached our village some two hours before sunrise. Our thane at once began mustering Riders for a rescue and sent us ahead to see what was going on. Once we arrived, and saw that you were under siege, I sent my comrade Fréabrand back to inform the thane. No doubt he will ride out at once with whatever… Riders… he has… gathered." Guthred's voice trailed away towards the end of his speech as he set eyes on Cierre.

Erchirion followed his gaze. "That is Cierre," he explained, "as fell a warrior as I have ever seen. She has slain over a score of the foe. Arrows struck her and her armour had to be cut off to remove the shafts. She has not yet had a chance to don new garb." He moved on to more pressing matters. "What of my brother? How badly is he wounded? And how soon may we expect your thane and his Riders?"

"Your brother has an arrow wound in his lower back, although his armour took the brunt of it and it is not serious, but his head injury is of more concern," Guthred replied. "He stayed conscious long enough to deliver his message but then fell senseless and he had not awoken at the time I left the village. Our healer fears his skull is cracked."

"Head injuries are not to be taken lightly," said Erchirion, "but up to a minute ago I thought him dead. And the Drow have great powers of healing. If we survive I am sure that Amrothos will recover. The relief force?"

Guthred tugged at his beard. "Folcred Thane will come the moment Fréabrand reaches the village," he said, "with whatever force he has mustered. It may not be enough to break the siege but I am sure it will suffice to hold the Southrons off until a larger force can be brought. Yet it is a long way, though they will ride hard and fast, and it will take time. I would say not sooner than six hours."

Erchirion nodded. "I would reckon the same. I thank you, Guthred. Now I must consult with Laelryne. She speaks no Westron and will have understood nothing of what you have just told me."

Laelryne had been aware of the conversation, and had recognised that some parts of it had pleased Erchirion greatly but that others had worried him, but that was all. She knew Erchirion would translate for her and, as she waited, she concentrated on Cierre.

"All of our people's armour is too small for me, Jabbress," Cierre said, "and the armour of the _rivvin_ dead would be too loose and thus would hamper my movements. I might be able to find something from the fallen desert people but it is mostly scale armour and, wearing that, I would not be able to cast spells. Even though all I have is two Cure Light Wounds and an Animalistic Power I would not wish to be without them. I think it would be better if I remained unclad; it seemed to distract the desert men so much that it would give me an advantage in combat."

"It would not distract them at long bowshot," Laelryne pointed out, "and it was only your armour that saved you this time. Without it you would have died. There must be something you could… Wait. I have an idea. Wear Kyoroth's mithral chainmail. It is enchanted and will change size to fit."

Cierre pouted. "She disliked me," she said, "and for me to take her armour would displease her. She died well and I would not wish to offend her spirit."

"Do not be a fool," Laelryne snapped. "Kyoroth will have gone before Kelemvor for judgement and soon will be condemned to the Wall of the Faithless. That you wear her armour will be the least of her worries. Put the fucking armour on and stop arguing."

"Well, if you put it like that," Cierre said, and she grinned. "I obey, Jabbress. Although I think it will disappoint some of our _rivvin_ allies. They seem to enjoy staring at my tits."

"Better disappointed than distracted," said Laelryne. She registered that Erchirion had finished his conversation with the leader of the newly-arrived Rohirrim contingent and turned to meet him as he approached.

"A smaller relief force than we had hoped for, but welcome nonetheless," she said. "I assume they are a passing patrol who stumbled upon us by chance?"

"No, better than that," Erchirion replied. "Amrothos lives. He is wounded, and his journey was slow, but he reached the nearest village before falling senseless. The bad news is that it will be some six hours before further help arrives."

Laelryne shrugged. "We are no worse off now than we were, and in fact are better off by the presence of five more Men – and accomplished warriors at that, to judge by their deeds on arrival. You say your brother lives? I am pleased for you."

"Thank you," said Erchirion. "He has a head injury, I am told, but he lives still."

"A head injury? And he lapsed into unconsciousness after delivering his plea for aid?" Laelryne frowned. "That is not good."

"You will be able to heal him, should we win through this fight, will you not? You brought back Cierre from the very brink of death."

"And the scroll with which I did that was our last that could have done so," Laelryne revealed. "This battle has eaten up our stocks and we are beginning to run short. We did not have a great store of such materials, alas, for while our goddess lived we could cast spells of healing whenever we wished. There seemed little point in building a stockpile but we are paying for that neglect now. Here, take this." She extracted a vial of liquid from a belt pouch and handed it to Erchirion. "This is a Potion of Heal and it will cure your brother no matter how serious his head injury should prove to be. Keep it safe."

Erchirion made no move to take it. "Might you not need it yourself, or for one of your people?"

"We are all in this together," Laelryne said, "and your brother's contribution may be what saves us all. Head injuries can have lasting effects and for him to suffer so would be poor reward for his perseverance. Take the potion and give it to him when you are reunited. I have not left myself entirely without healing materials and all my people have a potion or two still."

"I thank you, Laelryne of the Drow," Erchirion said, accepting the potion vial at last. "Truly our meeting with you and your people was the most fortunate chance for us. We owe you more than we can ever repay and you will have an honoured place in Dol Amroth for as long as our House endures."

"Thank you," Laelryne said, although privately she was thinking 'and will your descendants still feel that gratitude in two hundred years? I think not…' "But now we have to attend to the battle. What casualties did we take and what defence can we mount against their next assault?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Éomer King!" Fréabrand's surprised and delighted reaction echoed that of the previous message rider encountered on the road. "You have spoken to Folcred Thane?"

"I have," Éomer confirmed. "What news do you bear of Princess Lothíriel and her escort?"

"They live still but are under siege," Fréabrand reported. "We slew five Southrons, encamped as a picket upon the road, and then saw the wagons of the Dol Amroth caravan formed into a fortress circle. Southrons encircled it, attacking with arrow and scimitar, and the survivors of the escort were holding them off. Among the defenders were strangers with black skin; no doubt the Black Elves of whom the young prince spoke. My comrades stayed to strike at the Southrons at the first opportunity."

"How many Southrons are there? And how many defenders?" Éomer asked.

"Many have fallen on both sides," said Fréabrand. "The grass was strewn with bodies, mostly Southrons, but there were the bodies of Rohirrim and Men of Dol Amroth too. I would say that the defenders numbered forty or so, perhaps half of them Men and half Black Elves, and the Southrons' force was a little larger than an éored."

"So Erchirion and his Men are outnumbered three to one," said Éomer. "Their peril is dire. How far is it to the battle site?"

Fréabrand glanced up at the sky to determine the time from the position of the sun. "It is perhaps an hour, or a little more, since I left there," he estimated, "and I rode in haste. I do not think you will get there any faster."

"Well, let us try," said Éomer. "Onward!" He led his force forward once more. Fréabrand, in the absence of specific orders to the contrary, fell in with Éomer's force and rode with them. He discovered that there were Men from his own village with the company, taking the places of some of Éomer's Riders who had been too exhausted to go any further, and he joined them and recounted what he had seen.

"So, Éomer," Legolas remarked, as the horses accelerated to a gallop, "these mysterious Black Elves indeed are friends. I did not think that Elves of any kind could be co-operating with the Haradrim."

"And it seems you were correct," said Éomer. "I wonder who they are, and how they came to be with Lothíriel's party?"

"I am no Lore-master," said Legolas, "and I have no idea. The answers to our questions will have to wait until we can ask them for ourselves."

"And that had best be soon," Éomer said, "for they, and Lothíriel's escort, are beset by three times their number. And we cannot increase our pace any further, for the horses are weary, and we must retain enough strength to fight when we arrive. I hope that they can hold out."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Laelryne strode around the perimeter, Cierre at her heels, assessing the situation. The defenders' numbers had been further depleted by the last attack. She counted sixteen Drow including herself, eight of the Knights of Dol Amroth, and twelve of the fair-haired Rohirrim. Five of those were the ones who had just arrived. Only seven of the original forty still survived. The wagon drivers, equipped with armour and weapons from the dead, had all perished.

"Thirty-six of us remain," Laelryne said to Cierre. "We will be hard pressed to defend the circle with so few."

"What if we retreated to the centre, around the carriage, and set the wagons on fire?" Cierre suggested. "That would present an impassable barrier and they would burn for quite some time."

Laelryne shook her head. "True, but not for long enough," she said. "When they burned out we would be in the open and could not withstand a cavalry charge. Also it would be no barrier to arrows and they would be set afire by the flames as they passed through. It is possible the desert men might hold back from an arrow bombardment, for fear of setting fire to the carriage and driving the Princess out into the open where they might slay her unknowingly, but I would not rely on it."

"True," said Cierre. "I do not know what else to suggest."

"I had thought of removing one of the wagons, to reduce the size of the circle and thus require fewer defenders, but it would not help," Laelryne went on. "If we brought the wagon inside it would leave us too little room for manoeuvre; yet if we pushed it outside the enemy could use it as cover, moving it forward as if it were a siege tower. And if they charged us as we were moving the wagon they would have a clear path into the midst of our defence. No, I think our only option is to defend the circle as long as possible and then fall back to fight with our backs to the coach."

Her gaze fell on one of the Drow who appeared to be in distress and she set her course in that direction. As she drew closer she saw that it was Kebella and that the hardened warrior maid was crying. Kebella's shoulders were shaking as she sobbed. Ilmryn was trying to comfort her, or so it seemed, but without success.

Laelryne hastened to her side. "What troubles you, Kebella?" she asked.

Kebella raised a tear-stained face, choked back her sobs, and answered. "Jabbress," she answered, "I saw the _rivvin_ carrying off Dau'ne, alive, as a captive." Laelryne felt her blood turn to ice. "Two of them held her between them," Kebella continued, "and I had time to loose only once before they would be out of range. And so I put a bolt through her head."

"You did the only thing you could have done," Laelryne assured her. "You spared her much torment."

"I know," said Kebella, "but it still grieves me deeply."

Laelryne put her hand on Kebella's shoulder. "As it should," she said, "but do not let your grief consume you. The blame for Dau'ne's death is not yours. It rests with those desert i_rivvin_/i. And we will make them pay. Dry your eyes and reload your crossbow." Laelryne took a cloth from her pouch and was about to hand it to Kebella when she saw that it was deeply stained with blood; Cierre's, from when Laelryne was performing emergency surgery prior to administering the Heal spell. She tucked it away again and sought for another.

"I have already reloaded, Jabbress," Kebella said, "and I have my own napkin." She took out a cloth square, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose. "I am in control of myself once more," she said, "and ready to fight."

"I knew I could count upon you," Laelryne said. "Now show me where Dau'ne's body lies."

"It is a hundred yards outside the circle," Kebella said. "They did not at once realise that she was dead and carried her further before letting her body fall. Do you intend to retrieve it? What if the _rivvin_ intervene?"

"Then I kill them," said Laelryne. "Cierre, are you willing to come with me?"

"Only a direct order could stop me, Jabbress," said the tall Ranger, "and even then I would disobey if I saw you in danger."

"That is what I thought," Laelryne said. "Let us go."

Kebella pointed out the corpse's location. Laelryne and Cierre climbed up onto the nearest wagon and jumped down on the far side.

"Laelryne! Where are you going?" Erchirion called. He ran to the wagon, vaulted up, and looked down at the two Drow.

"To retrieve one of my own," Laelryne answered, and she walked on. Erchirion did not call out again. "How well will you perform with that bow?" Laelryne asked Cierre.

"I have had no time to practice," Cierre answered, "and I will have to guess at the elevation. However I have observed their arrows in flight, and noted the trajectories, and I should be able to give a fair account of myself. Also a horse and rider is a much bigger target than a person on foot."

"Then," said Laelryne, "if they come at us, take down as many as you can before they draw close. I will take the body and run for the wagons."

"I can run faster laden," Cierre pointed out.

"True," Laelryne agreed, "in fact you can run faster than anyone I have ever seen, drow or _darthiir_ or _rivvin_, but I cannot use a bow and have no great skill with a crossbow."

"I know," said Cierre. "Your eyesight is no better than that of a _rivvil_." Her own eyes were trained on the Haradrim encampment, watching for any sign of the horsemen reacting to their presence. "Jabbress, in case we die here, I want you to know that serving you has been a great honour. You gave me your trust when none had done before. It means a lot to me."

"You have proved more than worthy," Laelryne answered. "Your loyalty was a gift beyond price. It saddens me that you may have followed me to your death."

"You gave me a purpose worth dying for," Cierre said, and then her attention was caught by events elsewhere. "The desert riders move," she reported. "One clad in gilded mail mounts a fine horse. His beard is trimmed more neatly than that of the others and his helm bears a plume. I think he may be the leader. Four less finely armoured are mounting also."

"He may think we are walking out to a parley," Laelryne said. "If he comes within range kill him. The others may lose heart without their leader and give up this siege."

"As you command," Cierre said. She nocked an arrow to her bow but did not yet raise it to the aim.

By this time they had reached the corpse of Dau'ne. Laelryne bent down, lifted the body, and slung it across her shoulders. She turned and began to walk back to the wagons.

"Ah, they have realised our purpose," said Cierre. "The gilded one has halted and the others ride on."

"Loose shafts whenever you feel it best," Laelryne said.

"This will be good practice for me," Cierre said, "and four _rivvin_ pose us no real threat. I will try a shaft now." She bent her bow and loosed. Her target swerved his horse aside and the arrow missed. "That would have been a hit had he not evaded," Cierre commented. "Once I get used to this bow it will serve me well – although it sadly lacks range compared with my Uthgardt bow."

"Good," Laelryne said. She was beginning to feel the weight and didn't spare the breath for anything more. She kept on walking, ignoring what was happening behind her, as she knew that between her mithral chain, and the body across her shoulders blocking off the back of her head, she was virtually invulnerable to arrows from the rear. She trusted to Cierre to protect her from any other threat.

The horses galloped toward them, their hooves pounding the grass, and Cierre loosed another shaft. This one struck home, hitting a horse in the chest, and the animal faltered. The rider pulled it to a halt, dismounted, and examined the injury.

The other three riders loosed shafts as they approached. Cierre watched the trajectories. "Step left!" she warned Laelryne, who obeyed with alacrity. The arrow whizzed past on her right and struck the ground ten yards ahead. Cierre's answering shot sent a rider tumbling from his saddle. "I am finding the range now," she said, "and they cannot aim accurately from the backs of galloping horses."

"Well done," said Laelryne, "_abbil_".

"Thank you, Jabbress," Cierre said. "I am honoured." She loosed again and killed the second-last Haradrim warrior.

The remaining one must have recognised the inequality of the match. He exchanged his bow for scimitar and shield, crouched low over the neck of his horse, and galloped flat out for the two Drow. Cierre grinned, slung her bow over her shoulder, and drew her sword and axe. The Haradrim turned his horse's head, wheeled, and circled around Cierre to head directly for Laelryne.

"Jabbress!" Cierre shouted. "He comes at you!"

Laelryne released Dau'ne's body, turned, and drew her sword. The Haradrim raised his scimitar to deliver a downward slash. She killed him, wiped her sword blade clean and sheathed it, and took up Dau'ne once again.

"That was too much of a risk," Erchirion scolded her, as she reached the wagons. "What if they had charged at you in greater numbers?"

Laelryne passed over Dau'ne's body to Cierre and vaulted up onto the wagon. Cierre leapt up in a standing jump, with the body in her arms, and joined her.

"Then we would have turned back," Laelryne told Erchirion. "It was an acceptable risk. Leaving Dau'ne's body out there was not acceptable."

Erchirion's helm hid his eyebrows but Laelryne could tell that he was frowning. "And yet you were willing to use the bodies of your dead as part of a strategy of war."

"What is forced upon us is one thing, what we can change is another," said Laelryne. "It is done. There is no point in debating the matter further." She descended, took the body from Cierre, and went over to lay Dau'ne down amongst those who had fallen earlier.

"I should have known the futility of debating with Elves," said Erchirion. "Very well, I will say no more about it." He jumped down and joined Laelryne. "I am surprised that the Haradrim have not yet launched another attack. These delays give us respite and allow us to prepare. To resume their assault the moment the retreating troops can be rallied would be far better tactics."

"They take much longer to treat their injured than do we," Laelryne said. "They have fewer wounded, for those too hurt to join the retreat lie where they have fallen and bleed to death, but those who can still wield a weapon are patched up so that they can return to the fray. This takes time. It has proven greatly to our advantage."

"Thus far," said Erchirion. "How many of the foe would you say remain?"

Laelryne looked to Cierre. "Just over a hundred," Cierre reported, "although I believe a few of them may be wounded too badly to take any further part in the fight."

"Then we are outnumbered three to one still," said Erchirion, "as we have been all through this fight." He shook his head. "We have suffered heavy losses and I fear that we will suffer yet more before this is over." It was obvious that he was contemplating the grim mathematics that implied this would be a battle of mutual annihilation.

"We do not have to kill them all," Laelryne reminded him. "Only to hold out for a few hours more."

"They must realise that as well," said Erchirion, "and they will attack with even greater desperation."

Laelryne shrugged. "And we will defend with even greater desperation. We can but do our best." She gazed out across the plains. "It is odd," she said. "We came here because it is the ancestral home-world of the Elves. Yet we have seen no Elves at all."

"You will meet Elves soon," Erchirion promised. "Legolas Greenleaf is staying with…"

"Hush!" Laelryne interrupted him and drew her sword. Erchirion drew his own and looked around for danger. "My sword! It sings!" Laelryne stared at the blade with her eyes wide.

"Your sword… sings?"

"I hold a Singing Sword, one of the sacred weapons of the Protectors of the Song," Laelryne explained. "In battle it sang songs of encouragement and of protection from spells. It sang to warn of danger. When Eilistraee died the sword fell silent. It has never sung since then – but I could have sworn that I heard it sing just now."

"A warning? Are the Haradrim about to attack?" Erchirion stared over at the Haradrim encampment.

"It did not sound like a warning," Laelryne said. "I would almost call it a song of joy." She shook her head. "I must have imagined it. Certainly it is silent now."

"Jabbress!" Cierre called. "I see activity to the east. Fighting, I think."

"To the east?" Laelryne turned in that direction, and stared out, but saw nothing. "What do you see?"

"Horsemen," Cierre said. "More I cannot say. It is far off and the rise and fall of the ground obscures my view." She jumped up onto a wagon and climbed to the highest point. "Yes, horsemen," she said. "Two desert men are heading west toward their camp. Behind them two more fight five Rohirrim. I believe Men on each side have fallen already for I see riderless horses."

"A patrol from the village where we had planned to spend the night," Erchirion said. "They have stumbled upon the Southrons' eastern picket."

"One of the Rohirrim has fallen," Cierre reported. "Now one of the Haradrim falls. The other is beset by four and cannot – yes, he is down. The Rohirrim ride this way."

"There are riders moving out from the camp of the desert men," another Drow called. He was one of those rescued from the Eldreth Veluuthra by Cierre; Laelryne could not, for the moment, recollect his name. "They ride to meet their fellows. They number perhaps a score." He spoke in Drow; Laelryne translated his words into Elvish for Erchirion's benefit. Erchirion translated once again, including Cierre's report, into Westron so that the Rohirrim could understand.

"The Rohirrim turn away," Cierre said, "and ride back from whence they came."

"They will be back," said Erchirion. "They go to report and then will return with more Riders. That village is somewhat closer than the one from which Guthred and his fellows came; I sent Amrothos to the other village because the largest forces of Riders lie in that direction. Now, however, the twenty or so Riders from a single village would be enough to tip the scale. We can expect aid in only three or four hours."

"And the Haradrim will guess as much," said Laelryne. "We can expect them to attack again soon. Cierre, keep watching them." She began to allocate defensive positions to the surviving members of her force.

"The Haradrim are forming up," Cierre reported shortly afterwards. "Strange. The majority of them line up on foot. Only a score of them, plus one who I think is that leader in gilded mail, have mounted."

"That is not good," Erchirion said. "The previous attacks have failed because some broke, and fled, and the others followed. It is natural for horses to follow the herd; the riders would have to make a conscious effort to stop them and, when they are faced with a resolute defence, they could not summon up the resolve to do so. On foot it is not so easy to run away. They will come at us and they will not stop until they are slain."

"Why do some remain mounted?" Laelryne wondered, and then answered her own question. "Those are the elite, who are least likely to run, and they retain their mobility. The footmen will hit us in one place and the riders will circle looking for a place where we have stripped away the defenders to reinforce the site of the foot assault. If we do so then the horsemen will pounce."

"I fear you have the right of it," said Erchirion. "If we weather this assault we will be safe, for they will be in no shape to mount another before a rescue party arrives, but they will press this attack home with a resolve beyond anything we have faced before. This, I fear, will be our moment of greatest peril."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"_Noro lim, Arod_!" Legolas urged his horse to greater speed and he began to draw ahead of Éomer's éoreds.

"Steady, lad," Gimli said, tightening his grip on the Elf. "There's no point in us getting there before everyone else. Even we two wouldn't be able to achieve much on our own – and, if you shake me off the back of this beast, you'll be fighting all by yourself."

"Forgive me, friend Gimli," Legolas said, slowing down to match the pace of the others. "I'm not sure what possessed me. I felt a pull, a sudden sensation of terrible urgency, and was filled with the need to go at a faster pace. I know not why. I have never possessed the gift of being aware of what was happening in far-off places – and even those who did have such powers have found them to be fading since the destruction of the One Ring and the lessening of the Three."

"Well, you Elves have senses not shared by the rest of us," Gimli said, "and I'm perfectly prepared to admit that there is a need for haste. But Éomer knows his business; the pace he's setting is the fastest that will get us there in shape to fight. In fact, as he's desperate to reach his Princess, he's likely to err on the side of excessive speed if anything. All you'll achieve is to tire your horse out too early."

"I never thought that I would take advice on riding from a Dwarf," said Legolas, "but you are correct. Yet still I feel impelled to greater haste."

"I wouldn't have thought you would be so eager to set eyes on the Black Elves, considering that you had never heard of them before," Gimli remarked. "It's not like Sam's desire to see Oliphaunts. He'd heard tales of them since childhood."

"I confess that I am intrigued," Legolas said, "and indeed I would like to see these Black Elves. And I would prefer to see them while they are still alive."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Fall back! Back to the coach!" Laelryne saw Haradrim warriors swarming over two of the wagons and knew that her people could hold the perimeter no longer. "Pull back!" She heard Erchirion's voice, on the far side of the carriage, shouting out what was presumably the same command.

Drow jumped down from the wagon beds, and scrambled out from under wagons, and ran for the centre of the circle. Not all of them made it. Laelryne saw Kebella hit in the back by an arrow; the bloody point came out through her chest and she went down, sprawling on her face in the dirt, and did not move.

Ilmryn cried out, reversed his direction, and threw himself into a rolling dive. An arrow passed over him and then he came to his feet in front of the archer who had shot Kebella. Ilmryn rammed his sword into the man's belly, ripped it sideways, and the man fell screaming. Another Haradrim came at Ilmryn with a scimitar; the Drow parried with his left-hand sword, riposted and killed the man, and then a third Haradrim slashed at him from behind and Ilmryn went down with blood gushing from his half-severed neck.

Laelryne slew an onrushing warrior, then another, and then the surviving Drow were all at the carriage and forming up. Laelryne made a quick count and her heart sank. Ten, including herself and Cierre. And one of those who had not made it back was Ridoorl.

She had briefed everyone on what to do and they wasted no time in obeying her instructions. They formed into two ranks; the rear rank stood, backs to the carriage, and the front rank knelt. They thrust their swords into the ground and raised their crossbows. Laelryne took up a position to the left and Cierre, bow in hand, went to the right.

"Load!" Laelryne shouted. "Front rank, loose! Reload! Rear rank, loose! Reload! Front, loose!"

The rolling volleys tore into the Haradrim. Cierre was loosing shafts in time with both ranks. Eight Haradrim fell before one put an arrow into a rear-rank Drow. Scimitar-wielding warriors ran in from the flanks. Laelryne slew three with two cuts and a thrust. On the other side Cierre dropped her bow, drew her hand-axe in a lightning move that ended with it buried in a Haradrim skull, and then drew her sword. She brought up the sword in a stroke that took a man's arm off at the shoulder and then it descended in a lethal arc that clove through another man's head.

Two Southrons avoided Cierre and made it to the rear of the coach. They scrambled up to the top of the vehicle and nocked arrows to their bows to fire down upon the defenders. Cierre followed them up, reaching the top in two leaps, and rammed her sword through the back of one of them before the man could react. Then an arrow struck Cierre's sword-arm, piercing all the way through, and she let go of her sword. The dying Haradrim toppled from the coach taking the sword with him. Cierre kicked the other man so hard that he flew through the air and landed in a crumpled heap ten yards away. An arrow struck her body but failed to penetrate the mithral mail. She threw her hand-axe at the nearest Southron, with lethal accuracy, and jumped down from the carriage roof. As soon as she landed Cierre snapped off the arrow shaft, pulled out the arrow, and cast Cure Light Wounds on herself. Two more arrows hit her as she did so but again the armour saved her. Then Cierre scooped up two Haradrim scimitars from the ground.

"Hey, I'm Drizzt!" she called out. Two of the surviving defenders actually laughed, despite their dire situation, and Cierre grinned. "_Ultrinnan_!" she cried, and slew an onrushing attacker.

The Haradrim corpses lay in heaps and the ground was red with blood. Yet their arrows were taking their toll on the defenders. One by one they were hit and went down. And as they fell the effect of their volleys grew less and the attackers were able to take aim before they loosed.

Laelryne killed a man to her left, and then struck right, but as the second man fell she saw an archer behind him, bow fully bent, with his arrow trained on her. She had no time to dodge, nor even to bring her shield across, before he loosed. He was a mere four paces away and at that range the power of the bow defeated her armour. Laelryne felt an impact like a punch in her stomach, and then a searing flare of agony, and her strength deserted her and she went down on her knees. Her sword fell to the ground.

"Jabbress! _Nau_!" Cierre's cry was a howl of pain and of berserk fury. She hurled herself upon the Haradrim, hacking and slashing, and dismembered the archer who had shot Laelryne in a blinding flurry of blows. She killed two more men and then, as her right-hand scimitar was buried to the hilt in a Southron's stomach, another warrior brought his scimitar down and took her hand off at the wrist.

Laelryne looked down at her wound. The arrow was buried deep. If she tried to pull it out she would only disembowel herself. She could hear the clash of swords from the far side of the carriage, and knew that some of the _rivvin_ still fought on, but on her side only herself and Cierre remained alive. She drew her second-last healing potion from her pouch. It wouldn't heal her, not with the arrow embedded in her stomach, but it would slow the internal bleeding and numb the pain. Then a Haradrim came at her with a scimitar poised for a beheading stroke. She snatched up her sword, parried the blow, and drove the point of her blade through his throat. In the process she dropped the potion vial. The dead man's scimitar fell on it and shattered the glass.

Cierre pointed the stump of her wrist at the face of the man who had cut off her hand. Blood sprayed out onto his face and eyes. He brought up his arm and scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. As he did so Cierre brought around her left hand and drove her scimitar into his chest. She spoke a phrase and the blood flow from her wound stopped. Then she spoke another phrase, pulled free the scimitar, and turned to face another man who was charging at her. She moved with such speed that she seemed to blur. Her scimitar swept across at waist level and bit so deep that she cut the man almost in half.

Two more Haradrim attacked Cierre. She slew one but the other, in what must have been a deliberate move, sliced down at her left arm and severed that hand too. He called out triumphantly, speaking in a language unknown to Laelryne but his tone unmistakable, and then Cierre drove her forehead into his face with tremendous force. The man reeled back, his face a mask of blood and shattered bone, and dropped to his knees. Cierre kicked him in the head and he fell flat. He did not move again.

Laelryne managed to draw forth her last potion, extract the stopper, and raise it to her lips. Even as she was drinking she was struck by another arrow. This one took her in the side, just under her ribcage, and drove in deep. She rocked at the impact but managed to complete her drinking. Even so she knew that, unless the arrows could be extracted quickly and another potion of at least Cure Critical Wounds strength found, her wounds were mortal. And yet, somehow, she seemed to hear her sword singing a song of joy.

Ahead of her Laelryne saw a man in gilded armour. His skin was blistered and his beard was charred; he must have been the target of Ridoorl's last Fireball before the wizard went down. Two tall Haradrim warriors escorted him. Both held bows; they trained them on Cierre and loosed shafts which pierced Cierre's armour and went in almost to the fletching.

Cierre ignored her wounds and sprang upon the bowmen. She smashed one with blows from elbows, knees, and forehead. As the man collapsed the Haradrim leader thrust his scimitar into Cierre's body and, at last, she fell. The Southron commander withdrew his scimitar and strode toward the carriage.

Laelryne forced herself to her feet. She lunged at the man in gilded mail. He brushed her sword aside, the first time in two hundred years that anyone other than Iljrene the Battle-Master had ever managed to parry one of Laelryne's attacks, and riposted to her chest. His blade penetrated her mail only partially and skidded from her ribs without reaching heart or lungs. Laelryne brought her sword around again and connected but she had no strength in her arms. Her blow bounced off, harmlessly, without piercing the gilded mail. Her grip slackened and her Singing Sword fell from her hands. She went to her knees, sagged forward, and fell on her face. With an effort she managed to roll over onto her back, so that she could see, but she couldn't rise. The Haradrim leader spoke, incomprehensibly, and then turned and strode on to the coach. Laelryne felt bitter pangs of failure as she watched, unable to act, and she heard the pounding of blood in her ears. It sounded almost like hoof-beats.

The gilded man threw open the door of the coach, a smile of triumph on his face, and then the look turned to one of horror. There was a 'twang' and a crossbow quarrel buried itself up to the fletching in his left eye. He fell back, killed instantly, and lay still.

Laelryne saw Srulauthe, reloading her crossbow with smooth and practiced motions, and then the leader's remaining bodyguard released another shaft. It took Srulauthe in the throat. Her crossbow fell, bounced on the coach step, and landed on the blood-soaked grass. Srulauthe toppled after it and lay sprawled half in and half out of the carriage.

At some point in the fight, unnoticed by Laelryne at the time, someone had cut free the two bound Haradrim prisoners. One of them rushed for the coach and reached in to grab Lothíriel. The maid-servant screamed.

And Lothíriel thrust with Srulauthe's short-sword and stabbed the Southron to death.

The bodyguard, and the surviving freed prisoner, cursed and began to advance. Then something whistled through the air and struck the bodyguard's head. He wore a steel helm but against this impact it was no protection. A heavy war arrow, loosed from a bow perhaps as powerful as Cierre's Uthgardt bow, pierced through helm and skull alike and dropped the man dead upon the instant. The other man looked around, his mouth hanging open, and saw no other Haradrim inside the circle. His jaw dropped even further as he saw something out of Laelryne's line of sight. He turned and began to run. Another arrow hit him in the back and he fell.

And Laelryne realised that the pounding in her ears really was the sound of hoof-beats; hundreds of them. Rohan had come at last.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Jabbress." Cierre had crawled to where Laelryne lay. Blood was trickling from the corners of her mouth and her breathing was laboured. "We are dying. I go to Fury's Heart, to join Auril, but you go to the Wall of the Faithless. It is unjust. When I stand before Kelemvor I shall spit in his eye for you."

"No," said Laelryne, "we shall spit in his eye together."

Cierre croaked out something approximating to a laugh. "Jabbress," she said, "you… remembered…" And then her eyes rolled up, she slumped down, and lay still.

Lothíriel appeared above Laelryne. There were tears in her eyes. "Erchirion!" she shouted. "Laelryne is deathly hurt!" She bent down and stared at the arrows. "I have some small training as a healer," she said, "but this is far beyond me. But I will do what I can. Have you your magical potions?"

"All gone," Laelryne said. "Erchirion lives?"

Erchirion limped into view. The swan crest had been shorn from his helm, his surcoat was torn in several places, and the armour under the cloth was marred by nicks and scratches. A trickle of blood ran down his right leg from a wound in his thigh. His left hand was a bloody mess and he seemed to have lost at least one finger. Yet he lived.

"Laelryne!" he exclaimed. "You must not die. I have the healing potion you gave me."

"No use," Laelryne said. "Won't work with the arrows in and withdrawing them… will kill me. Save it for your brother. Who… of us… survived?"

"All your people are dead, alas," Erchirion said. "All of my Swan Knights also. Two of the Rohirrim from our original escort live still, also Guthred and one other of the Riders who came with him, but all of the others are dead. Éomer King has reached us with his full force and those few Haradrim who remain alive are fleeing with the Rohirrim in pursuit. We are safe – but it is too late for your people. I am sorry."

"Not… your fault," Laelryne said.

Then a new face appeared. It was a _darthiir_, the tallest Elf Laelryne had ever seen, and he was fair of face. He held a great bow in one hand and Laelryne guessed that he was the one who had slain the last of the Haradrim within the circle. And she heard the singing again but realised, now, that it was coming from inside her and not from the sword.

"It is you," the Elf said, looking down upon her. "It is from you that I felt the pull. My _fëa_ sings with yours. But you are hurt unto death."

"_Vith, dos ph'zandeln,_" Laelryne said. "If I had known that the Elves here were as fair as you I would have made sure that I didn't get killed. Too late… now." The coppery taste of blood in her mouth was strong. Although the day was yet young, not even mid-morning, it seemed to be growing dark.

"You must not die!" said the Elf. "I have only just found you." He knelt at her side and took hold of her hand. Laelryne saw a Dwarf behind him; the Dwarf laid his hand upon the shoulder of the tall Elf.

"It's not… as if… I have any… choice," Laelryne said. "But we saved Lothíriel. Remember… the Drow… with…" She gulped for air and squeezed his hand tightly. "I… I…" she said, and then suddenly her eyes opened very wide. "Eilistraee!" she said. "You live! But why is your skin… pale? And…" She jerked convulsively and her eyes closed. The onlookers thought her dead but then her eyes opened once more and she spoke. "I come to you!" she said.

And then she died.

**Glossary of Drow Phrases**

• '_rivvin/rivvil_' = 'human' (plural/singular)

• '_Jabbress_' = 'Commander' (female)

• '_Darthiir_' = 'Surface Elf'

• '_Darthiiri_' = 'Elves/Elven'

• '_Vith nindel_' = 'Fuck that'

• '_Vith, nindel zhahus zolarix_' = 'Fuck, that was painful'

• '_Dos vith'ez rivvin iblith_' = 'You fucking human excrement'

• '_Ultrinnan_' = 'Victory'

• '_Skrel fol xxilfet pholor, dos vith'ez vigh elg'caress_' = 'Put some armour on, you fucking crazy bitch'

• '_abbil_' = 'trusted friend'

• '_Nau_' = 'No'

• '_Vith, dos ph'zandeln_' = 'Fuck, you're handsome'

• '_Wes ðu hal_' (Rohirric) = 'Be well'

• '_Noro lim_' (Sindarin) = 'Ride on'

• '_fëa_' (Sindarin) = 'soul/spirit'


	5. Epilogue: Far away on the other side

_Their words mostly noises_

_Ghosts with just voices_

_Your words in my memory_

_Are like music to me_

_I'm miles from where you are,_

_I lay down on the cold ground_

_I, I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_

Snow Patrol, _Set the fire to the third bar_

**Epilogue: Far away on the other side**

Legolas released the _elleth's_ hand and stood up. "She's dead," he said. "And I never even learned her name."

"Her name was Laelryne," Lothíriel told him. "She styled herself Protector of the Song. She truly was a protector. And, although I knew her for less than a day, she was my friend."

"Protector of the Song," Legolas repeated. "A worthy title." He gazed down at the body. Laying there, pierced with arrows, she reminded him of Boromir. On the face of it the comparison seemed ridiculous; surely this slim _elleth_, who he estimated would have stood barely over five feet tall, could not have been a match for the mighty Captain of Gondor. Yet the positioning of the fallen foes about her, and the wounds that had slain them, implied that she too had been a formidable warrior.

Gimli was surveying the scene of carnage. "What a last stand," he said, in tones of awed respect. "These few who fell here slew fifty before they were brought down." He was about to say more but broke off when he saw Éomer leaping down from Firefoot and dashing into the circle of wagons.

"Lothíriel!" Éomer cried. "Are you safe?" His sword Gúthwinë was in his hand but, as Lothíriel rushed to meet him, he sheathed it hastily and held out his arms to sweep his beloved into his embrace.

Legolas turned away, leaving them to their reunion, and walked around to the other side of the carriage. There he found four of the Rohirrim, battered and wounded, sitting or leaning against the side of the coach. He recognised one as Heruwine, commander of the éored that had provided the escort for the caravan, who had distinguished himself as a warrior both at Helm's Deep and the Pelennor Fields. An arrow had struck him in the calf and penetrated all the way through his boot, through the flesh, and out through the other side. The other three Rohirrim all bore wounds; one had lost a hand at the wrist and a comrade was still busy binding it to staunch the flow of blood.

Bodies lay all around. The corpses of the fallen Swan Knights were out in the open, hacked to pieces, surrounded by Haradrim dead. Legolas guessed that the knights, in their heavy armour, had been overhauled as they ran back from the wagons to the coach and had been pulled down like stags surrounded by a pack of wolves.

"Lord Legolas, well met," Heruwine greeted the Elf. "Éomer King is here?"

"He is, with five hundred Riders," Legolas said. "I found traces of the passing of the Haradrim and Éomer set out as soon as I reported to him. We rode at speed for a day and a night. Would that we could have got here sooner." He noticed that the Haradrim corpses on this side, although many, were noticeably fewer than on the side that had been defended by the Black Elves.

"I live," said Heruwine, "but my éored is destroyed. I heard the Princess crying out that Laelryne was hurt unto death. Does she yet live?"

"No," Legolas said. "She died. All the Black Elves perished." He felt a strange emptiness, a hollow feeling, inside him.

"Even Cierre?" said the Man who had been binding the wound of his fellow who had lost a hand. "I had thought her invincible."

"I do not know of whom you speak," Legolas said, "but they are all dead."

"Cierre, baresark, bare-breasted she fought, bare-handed she slew, like Helm Hammerhand returned," Heruwine said, speaking rhythmically as if reciting. "I shall compose a verse in full at a later time, when I do not have an arrow through my leg."

By now more of Éomer's Riders were entering the circle. Men with experience of treating battlefield injuries hurried to the aid of Heruwine and his companions. Legolas wandered back to the side of the coach where Laelryne lay.

For a while he simply stood and looked around, trying to deduce the course of events from the physical evidence, and listening with one ear to Gimli doing the same thing and speaking admiringly about his findings. Legolas also was considering, and trying to come to terms with, the strange new feelings he was experiencing.

He'd never given much thought to affairs of the heart until recently. Occasionally his father had hinted that he should think about finding a wife but it hadn't been a matter of urgency. Legolas had assumed that, one day, he would meet the right _elleth_ but that day might be _yéni_, or even millennia, in the future. Only in the past year, after seeing Aragorn with Arwen, Faramir with Éowyn, and Éomer with Lothíriel, had Legolas felt in any way discontented with his unattached state.

And he'd never expected that, when it happened, it would be so sudden. He'd taken it for granted that he would get to know an _elleth_ and gradually come to realise that their _fëar_ were in harmony. Love at first sight was a Mannish concept and rare enough even amongst Men; in fact he'd come across the idea primarily in conversations about Éomer and Lothíriel. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought that it would happen to him – before first sight, even, for he had felt a pull within him when he was yet several miles from the _elleth_ in question.

He had set eyes on her only when she was already dying. There had been time for only a few words before death had parted them. And yet the death of this virtual stranger had sent pangs of grief and loss flooding through him as painfully as when he had seen Mithrandir fall from the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. He didn't understand how it had happened but he could not deny how he felt.

It wasn't logical. Legolas tried to think about it rationally. He hadn't known this _elleth_ Laelryne at all. She had been pretty, certainly, even with her face twisting in response to the pain of her mortal wounds; her deep brown skin was unlike anything he had seen before but it was not unattractive, in fact it gave her an exotic air that only added to her appeal. However physical attractiveness was the norm among Elves and certainly she had not been outstanding when compared to renowned beauties such as Arwen and Galadriel. And, as for Laelryne's character, he had only a few words on which to base his opinion.

Once healers had tended to Erchirion's wounds Legolas approached the prince and asked him about Laelryne. Almost Legolas hoped to hear disparaging words, descriptions of flaws, revelations that would enable him to persuade himself that the Dark Elf _elleth_ could not really be his soul-mate. Instead Erchirion heaped unstinting praise upon the warrior maid who, the prince was convinced, was the only reason he was still alive and his sister had not been carried off as a captive by the Haradrim.

"She was a marvel with a sword," Erchirion reminisced. "Never have I seen anyone so skilled. Even our King Elessar could not have matched her. She moved in a dance, graceful and smooth, with not a motion wasted. It was beautiful to behold – although her opponents never lived long enough to appreciate it. And she was a gifted commander and tactician. She claimed to be nothing special, merely a subordinate officer, but she had learned well from her superiors – who must themselves have been quite remarkable. It was Laelryne who was the true commander of our defence. She projected an air of calm authority that was reassuring, even in the direst of situations, and inspired us all to follow her lead. And her people loved her."

"You make her sound like Aragorn," Legolas remarked.

"It was Faramir of whom she reminded me, but you are right too," said Erchirion. "Certainly her companion Cierre was to her what Gimli was to our king during the Ring War. Or yourself and Gimli rolled into one, rather, for Cierre was an archer who might perhaps have matched you for accuracy and power as well as being formidable with sword and axe. And her lust for battle was more that of a Dwarf than an Elf."

"She fought on even when they cut off her hands," Gimli chimed in. "I could tell that from the way the bodies lay and the injuries on the foemen. What a fighter! I would have been proud to swing my axe at her side."

The conversation then turned to Cierre. Legolas did not attempt to direct Erchirion back onto the topic of Laelryne, for he felt that he had learned what he needed to know, and he reflected on what he had heard as Erchirion and Gimli discussed the other warrior maid.

It was obvious that Laelryne had impressed Erchirion greatly. Legolas had a great respect for Erchirion's father, Prince Imrahil, and Imrahil's sons were all worthy Men. That Laelryne had inspired Erchirion to such loyalty, hero-worship even, spoke volumes about her character. And he had compared her to Faramir; from a Man of Gondor such a comparison was praise of the highest order. Legolas had hoped to find something that would enable him to put aside this feeling of loss; instead he now felt it even more keenly. He would have delighted in getting to know her but the chance had been snatched away. He would have to wait until they were reunited in Valinor and who could tell how long that would be? Already he had vowed not to sail to the West until after Aragorn had departed from this life; now it would be even harder to fight against the sea-longing.

Later, as he waited for a chance to talk with Lothíriel, Legolas sought out Cierre's bow and examined it. The wood of which it was made was unfamiliar to him and the craftsmanship, too, differed from that of the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen and that of the Galadhrim. A Haradrim arrow had struck it and split the wood along the grain, ruining the bow, but he could tell that it had been a superb weapon. He tested the strength of the undamaged end and estimated that it would have had a draw weight almost as great as that of the bow given to him by Galadriel. It was not surprising that the Haradrim had learned to fear the bow and its wielder and, according to Erchirion, they had launched one attack with no other purpose than to slay Cierre; a task at which they had failed but which had destroyed the bow.

Then, at last, Legolas saw that Éomer was no longer with Lothíriel. The main body of the Rohirrim had returned with captives, a mere dozen Haradrim all of whom were wounded, and Éomer went to oversee what was to be done with them and to direct the cleaning-up of the battle site and organise burials. Legolas took the opportunity to seek out the princess.

"She was a good person," Lothíriel said. "Compassionate and kind. Most of all, I think, she was determined to do the right thing, whatever the cost. She reminded me, very much, of Éowyn; although more… intellectual."

"She reminded you of Éowyn? Because of her deeds of arms, you mean?"

Lothíriel shook her head. "I have known Éowyn only since she has been with cousin Faramir," she said, "and she is happy and contented now. But Éomer has told me of the dark times she endured, and of the despair into which she fell, and which drove her almost to cast her life away. That is what I sensed in Laelryne. It seems that her leader went through a decline like unto that which afflicted Théoden King but, unlike Théoden, she did not rise above it and brought disaster upon her people. Laelryne's people were the survivors of that catastrophe and were still afflicted by its shadow. There was a deep sadness within Laelryne, I could tell, although she hid it well most of the time. Only sometimes did it show through."

"Something that occurred during the War of the Ring?" Legolas asked.

Lothíriel's eyebrows shot up. "Did you not know? No, of course, you were not here and no-one will have told you. Laelryne and her people were not from this world. They came here after the catastrophe, which had left them as homeless refugees, seeking a place in which they could find peace. They arrived only hours before the attack of the Haradrim."

"Not from this world? What do you mean?"

"I do not fully understand it myself," said Lothíriel. "She told me only part of the story; there was no time to go into the matter in depth, although I heard more from Srulauthe as we took shelter in the carriage. All I know is that their ancestors left Middle Earth long Ages ago; I suspect that they were fleeing from Morgoth. They found a world called Faerûn, or perhaps Toril – Srulauthe used both names, and I know not what the difference is – and settled there. Later some of them fell into evil, and they split into factions, and warred amongst themselves for long Ages. A short time ago her faction was defeated, their stronghold sacked, and their people massacred. Laelryne escaped with some of the survivors and led them here."

"Another… world," Legolas said, slowly. "How can there be another world? And how can people travel between worlds?"

"I am the wrong person to ask," Lothíriel said. "I know only what they told me. Perhaps Mithrandir, or a loremaster such as Lord Elrond of Imladris, might be able to tell you more. All I can say is that they travelled by magic and arrived in an ancient stone circle near the road, perhaps a league and a half to the west of here, shortly before our caravan reached that point." She sighed. "For me it was the most fortunate of chances and my salvation; for them, alas, it meant their deaths. I pray that they do not suffer the fate that Laelryne told me was to be their doom."

"Their… doom?" Legolas echoed.

"Yes. Laelryne told me that her people, and herself, would not go to the Halls of Mandos and thence to Valinor upon their deaths. Instead they would be imprisoned in something called the Wall of the Faithless until their souls were… destroyed." Lothíriel choked back a sob. "It seems so unjust. They followed one among the Valar of their world who was slain and refused to transfer their allegiance to another upon her death. This, it seems, is a crime to those Valar and incurs that cruel punishment. Yet to me it seems that they were faithful beyond any and to call them Faithless is the opposite of the truth. I implored our Valar to treat her fallen people as Elves of Middle Earth. I can only hope that they will."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"The prisoners tell me," Éomer told Legolas, "that their Amir had ordered them to take Black Elf women alive if they could. That, I think, is why the Southrons concentrated their efforts, in the final assault, upon the side where the Black Elves made their stand."

"And yet they slew them, with arrows in almost every case," Legolas said. "That does not fit with an attempt to take captives."

"I suspect that the Black Elves simply fought so ferociously that taking them alive was impossible and the Men ignored their Amir's orders," Éomer said. "None of the prisoners were involved in that attack, as all of them had been injured earlier and were unfit for anything other than looking after the horses, and they could not confirm my guess. I would be surprised, though, if I was wrong."

"But why…?" Legolas began, and then the answer to the question he had been about to ask came to him. "They wanted to take them as slaves," he said, his lip curling with disgust.

"Indeed so," Éomer confirmed. "Apparently such exotic women would have sold for a fortune in the slave markets of Harad." He spat on the ground. "Despicable swine."

"Indeed," Legolas agreed. "Tell me, Éomer, is there a stone circle near here?"

"I do not know this area well," Éomer said, "but I shall find out. Guthred and Garwalda, who survived the siege, are from the last village we passed through and may well know. Also some Riders have just arrived from the village that lies to the east. I shall ask them too." He raised his hand and stroked his beard. "Hmm. If there is such a circle it might make a suitable location for the mound we will raise to inter the fallen Black Elves with honour."

"Wait," said Legolas. "I must see the place first."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Legolas gazed at the stone circle. It was difficult to recognise as a deliberate construction; the stones had eroded away, and sunk into the soil or been buried by the detritus of the ages, so that most protruded only a few feet above the ground or had disappeared entirely. Legolas doubted very much if any magic remained in this place.

"This place is old beyond reckoning," Gimli said. "Does it speak to you, as the stones in the land of Hollin spoke to you?"

"No," said Legolas. "I can learn nothing here. Perhaps Mithrandir might be able to discover something but to me these stones are dead."

"What are your plans?" Gimli asked.

"I must learn more," Legolas said. "I cannot rely upon meeting Laelryne again in Valinor. If her _fëa_ is imprisoned elsewhere, and doomed to destruction, then I must at least seek for a way to rescue her. I suspect the task would be impossible – but if there is any way to achieve it then I must at least try."

"And I will aid you," said Gimli. "We have achieved the impossible before."

"Or at least what was thought to be impossible," Legolas said. "Thank you, my friend. Your staunch comradeship lightens my heavy heart and steels my resolve. Now let us leave this place. I would have further speech with Éomer before the dead are laid to rest."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

In the end it was Lothíriel who gave instructions for the burial of the Drow. "Srulauthe and I talked," she explained, "as we sat waiting for the end. They bury their dead where the moon can shine upon the graves. A mound, such as the Men of the Mark raise, would suit perfectly. And they do not inter their dead with weapons but pass them on to the successors of the departed. In this case," she said, "I feel that they should go to Legolas."

"I can hardly take four dozen swords," Legolas protested. "More, in fact, for many of them wore swords at each hip. Nor can I take a multitude of their 'crossbows'. I will take Laelryne's sword, though, and return it to her if I find her in Valinor… or elsewhere."

"Those 'crossbows' could be of use to the Dwarves," said Gimli. "I will take one, if I may, so that craftsmen of my people can study it and fashion copies."

"I have some thoughts on their use myself," Erchirion said.

"As I seem to have been thrust into the role of the representative of the Dark Elves," Legolas said, "I grant you permission to take them. You were their comrades in battle and fought, and died, side by side. I cannot imagine they would object."

"I'll look after the axe that was Cierre's," Gimli volunteered. "If I can't return it to her any other way, I'll pass it on to you when you take ship to the West. An Elf who uses an axe deserves her weapon back – and, unlike a sword, it can also be used to split logs for the fire."

"And there is the gold," said Lothíriel. "Again it should go to Legolas."

"Gold?" queried Gimli.

"Their pack mules bore two chests of golden coins," Lothíriel said. "It was to set them up in their new life in this land. There must be some thousands."

"Should it not go to the relatives of the dead here?" Legolas asked.

"There are three hundred Haradrim horses to count as weregild," Éomer said, "and other saleable possessions that are forfeit to us. There is no need for us to take the gold from fallen allies."

"The Drow gave their lives for us," said Lothíriel. "We cannot ask for more."

"And if you manage to find this 'Wall of the Faithless'," Erchirion said, "and mount an attempt to rescue Laelryne's shade, you may need to arm and equip an army. The gold will serve you well for that purpose. And, if you need volunteers for that army, you have my sword."

Gimli grinned. "And my axe."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Elrond examined Laelryne's sword and then passed it over to his smith Angmir.

"Remarkable workmanship," Angmir said, after a careful study of the weapon, "worthy of the great smiths of Eregion in the Elder Days. And it bears cunning enchantments. Only one who is pure in heart can wield this sword without doom coming swiftly upon them. Would that I could have met the lady who bore this blade. There are many questions I would have asked her."

"And I," said Legolas, "had she not already been hurt unto death. There was time only for a few words." He turned back to Elrond. "Can you tell me anything of Dark Elves? Are there any histories in your libraries that mention them?"

"Only in the sense of those who refused the invitation to go to Valinor," Elrond said. "Perhaps Glorfindel might know more?"

"Eöl Mornedhel was dark of skin," Glorfindel said, "although not as dark as you describe. He did not speak of his ancestry – indeed, he spoke little unless pressed – and he was kin to Thingol, who was as fair-skinned as are we. Perhaps, though, one of his parents was a true Dark Elf. That is all that I can suggest. I am sorry that it is so little."

"What about you, Gandalf?" Gimli asked. "Do you know anything that would help Legolas in his quest?"

Mithrandir pursed his lips. "I have studied many works of lore in the libraries of Imladris, and of Gondor, and in the North Kingdom before its fall," he said, "and never have I seen reference to Elves like those of which you speak. However I do have a volume retrieved from Orthanc, after Saruman's departure, containing notes which up to now have made no sense to me. He writes of seeking gates to other worlds 'like those the Avari of Morwë used long ago'. But he makes no mention of finding them. The notes end, with the matter unresolved, and the next section deals with research into the loss of the One Ring. Presumably Saruman lost interest in gates between worlds as his obsession with the Ring grew."

"I have heard the name Morwë before," said Glorfindel. "He was the founder of one of the tribes of the Avari, I believe, a contemporary of Nurwë. But this was a matter of ancient history and legend even before the fall of Gondolin."

"From the few facts that we have," said Elrond, "I would deduce that Morwë's people were the ancestors of the Dark Elves who fell in Rohan. They departed from Arda, no doubt to escape the dominion of Morgoth, through a gateway that led them to another world. But how this was achieved, and how it might be achieved once more, remains a mystery. I am afraid we have been able to contribute little to add to your existing knowledge."

"Saruman may have known more," said Mithrandir, "but whatever knowledge he possessed died with him. And I suspect that it would have been of little help in any event."

"Is there nothing more you can add?" Legolas pleaded. "Surely any sources of knowledge open to Saruman must be open to you too."

Mithrandir sighed. "I shall see what I can do," he said. "The powers granted to me were for the purpose of combating Sauron and they are not to be used for frivolous ends. Yet this is, plainly, no frivolous matter and you are, after all, Legolas of the Nine Walkers. You deserve whatever aid I can give and you shall have it. However, to do this, I must spend time in silent contemplation. I shall return." He rose and departed from the chamber. Even before he had left the room he had withdrawn a pipe from within his robes.

The Sons of Elrond had taken no part in the discussion thus far. They were not loremasters and were far too young to have anything to contribute from their own experience. Now, however, they spoke up.

"Tell us more of this warrior maid Cierre," said one. Legolas believed the speaker to be Elladan but, he had to admit, he was not absolutely sure.

"Yes," said the other. "She sounds… interesting."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"I can add little to what you have already been told," Mithrandir admitted. They sat in a private room, just the wizard and Legolas, for this information was not for all ears. Mithrandir smelt strongly of pipeweed and the shadows under his eyes had deepened. "I can confirm, however, that there was a tribe of the Avari who had skin of deepest brown. They were led by Morwë, as Glorfindel suggested, but little else was known of them even by the Ainur. They did not answer the Call but hid themselves in the deepest forests. Then, around the time of Morgoth's return to Middle Earth, they disappeared without trace." He paused, took out his pipe, and then reconsidered and put it away again.

"It was believed that Morgoth had captured them all," Mithrandir went on. "When the Orcs appeared it was deduced that he had twisted the Dark Elves to form Orcs. Morgoth, after all, could never create life but only mar and distort it. Yet I am no longer sure that this is the true story. Laelryene's people were familiar with Orcs, you said, and that does not fit with them being of Morgoth's shaping. If that been the case how, then, could her folk have encountered them?"

"Erchirion told me that the Dark Elves knew Orcs well, and held a great contempt for them, and slew them with ease," Legolas confirmed. He sat alone with Mithrandir, in a private room, for this information was for his ears only.

"It may be that Morgoth brought the Orcs from outside Arda, in a similar fashion to that used by the Dark Elves to depart from this world," Mithrandir said. "I am only hypothesising, of course, but it seems to me that it fits those few facts of which we are sure at least as well as the accepted idea that he shaped Elves into Orcs."

"If Morgoth could open gates between worlds," Legolas said, "why then did he not flee when he was facing defeat in the War of Wrath?"

"That is a question I cannot answer," Mithrandir said. "Perhaps the One intervened to prevent his escape, not wishing the evil to spread. It could be that his way was barred by those on the other side of the gate; that other world has Valar of its own, you said, and they would not have welcomed such an interloper. A tribe of Elves is one thing, a mighty spirit of Evil something entirely different. Whatever the truth of the matter, whether my guess is accurate or mere wild supposition, I can see no way to investigate further. I will re-examine Saruman's documents, in case there is more to learn, but I doubt it. And soon I will be sailing West."

"I thank you for what you have done," Legolas said. "At least I have a starting point. And Glorfindel's information could be helpful also. Morwë was a contemporary of Nurwë, he said, and Nurwë was an ancestor of my own mother. Perhaps I might find someone in my father's kingdom who can tell me more."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

King Thranduil gave Gimli a warm greeting, rather to Legolas' surprise; he had expected that his father's reaction would have been, instead, a hot reception.

"I welcome you to my halls, Gimli son of Glóin," Thranduil said. "I have heard much about you that is good and naught that is bad. My son could have wished for no better comrade."

"I thank you, Lord King," Gimli answered, "and I could have wished for none better than your valiant son. His bow and my axe spread fear among the hosts of Mordor and, at his side, I learned that my preconceptions about the Elves were not accurate. And word has reached me of your own valiant deeds against the Orcs from Dol Guldur. I accept your welcome gladly."

"Well said, Gimli son of Glóin," Thranduil replied. "And you may tell your father that he too would be welcome to visit my halls. And, this time, he will be treated as an honoured guest rather than locked away – and he will be free to leave at any time of his choosing instead of having to be smuggled out by a Hobbit."

Thranduil held a feast in the evening. The atmosphere was convivial; a few of the Elves treated Gimli with a degree of suspicion, at first, but Thranduil glowered at them until they modified their behaviour. At the end of the evening Gimli retired to his allocated chamber, replete after a hearty meal of venison and a plentiful supply of ale and wine, and Thranduil took Legolas into a private room to converse further.

"There is something different about you, my son," said the Elvenking. "I think it is nothing to do with your experiences in the War. You have the air, I would say, of one who is in love."

Legolas was thrown off balance by his father's statement but had to agree. "I… yes, you are correct," he admitted. "Indeed I have met the _elleth_ with whose _fëa_ mine sings in harmony."

"That is wonderful news," Thranduil said, beaming broadly. "For a minute there I feared that you had fallen for Gimli – and, although I am pleased to welcome him as your comrade, I would be less pleased to think of him as a son-in-law."

Legolas laughed. "No, nothing like that," he said. "You need have no fears on that score."

"Good," said Thranduil. "Then, tell me, who is this _elleth_? Andriel of Imladris, perhaps? She performed great deeds in the North during the War, including rescuing Glorhirin from Orcish captivity, and Glorhirin tells me that she is as fair as she is courageous. And you have just come from Imladris. Am I correct?"

Legolas shook his head. "I have met Andriel, and she is indeed both fair and brave," he said, "but there is nothing between us. She has lost her heart to a Mortal, a Ranger of the Northern Dúnedain, but the choice of Arwen is not open to her. She is to sail West, with Lord Elrond, in the hope that she can forget him in time."

"Ah," said Thranduil, his mouth twisting. "A sad fate." His smile returned. "Then who? A maid of the Galadhrim, perhaps?"

"No," said Legolas. "Her name is Laelryne. She is – was – a Dark Elf. And I met her only as she lay dying."

"Oh." Thranduil poured out two goblets of his finest Dorwinion wine and passed one to Legolas. "I think you had better tell me all about it."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Yes, my father spoke of Dark Elves on occasion," said Cennandor. He was one of the eldest of the Elves of Mirkwood and the only one Legolas had been able to find who knew anything about Dark Elves other than the tale of Eöl. "Rarely did he say more than 'son, you are as secretive as a Dark Elf.' Once, though, we talked of spiders and he said to me 'There are those who say that Ungoliant went far to the south and died there. My father' – that is, my grandfather – 'says that tale is false. He told me that she pursued the Dark Elves beyond the circles of the world. Would that she had taken all her fiendish spawn with her!' Alas, the conversation then turned back to spiders and he said no more on the subject."

"I take it your father is… departed," Legolas said.

"Indeed so," Cennandor confirmed. "He perished serving under your grandfather at the Dagorlad. My mother sailed for the West some two _yéni_ later. They would have known more, I am sure, but they are gone."

Legolas thanked the Elf and, once he had departed, sighed. This was new information, indeed, but little enough to add to what he already knew. It did not move him any further forward in his quest. His father had found Cennandor for him but had failed to locate anyone else who claimed any knowledge of Dark Elves. And soon he would have to leave Mirkwood, for he had received an invitation to the wedding of Éomer and Lothíriel, and the journey was long. Still, perhaps he might find someone among the Galadhrim of Lothlórien who could tell him more.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Legolas learned nothing new in Lothlórien. He travelled on to Rohan with Gimli, retracing the steps he had followed as part of the Fellowship, and was at Edoras in time for the wedding.

There he learned that Éomer had ordered a search of Dunland, to ensure that no other Haradrim were in hiding there, and the Riders had discovered the village where the raiders had made their lair between their flight from the Pelennor Fields and their attack upon Lothíriel's caravan. The Haradrim had massacred the village's entire population; Men, women, and children.

At first the Dunlendings had believed the Rohirrim responsible, and the situation had been tense for a while, but eventually the truth had become clear. And this had solved Éomer's dilemma over what to do with the prisoners taken at the site of the battle on the Great West Road; he had handed them over to the Dunlendings to do with as they saw fit. The end result had been an improvement in relations between the Rohirrim and the Dunlendings. As for the Haradrim, Éomer hadn't even asked what the Dunlendings had done with them; Legolas was certain, however, that it would have been nothing pleasant.

The wedding was a joyous occasion. Éomer seemed to stand even taller than usual, beaming with pride, and Lothíriel was radiant. Legolas wished the couple joy, and bestowed upon them gifts he had brought from Mirkwood, and then, after the festivities were over, he and Gimli travelled to Minas Tirith in company with Aragorn and Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn, Prince Imrahil, and Imrahil's sons.

It was good to be reunited with Aragorn. Legolas enjoyed time with his friend, and resumed work on the restoration of the city's gardens while Gimli carried on with the project to rebuild those parts of the city walls and buildings destroyed during the siege. And Legolas spent a considerable amount of time in the extensive libraries of Minas Tirith.

He found nothing of use. There were reams of material about the history of Gondor, and a fair amount concerning Númenor, but almost nothing relating to the Ages before that. Aragorn was something of a loremaster himself, and Legolas hoped that he might have come across some relevant knowledge in his extensive travels, but his hope proved false. Aragorn was fascinated by the tale Legolas related but could contribute nothing of any use. Faramir, too, was enthralled but could provide no information that was helpful to Legolas.

Eventually Legolas departed from Gondor and went with Gimli to the Glittering Caves. There Gimli settled, bringing relatives from the North to populate his realm of Aglarond, and Legolas considered doing something similar. There was a place in Ithilien that would make a fine Elven settlement…

Time passed. Mithrandir, Elrond, and Galadriel sailed for the West and took with them Bilbo and Frodo. Lothíriel gave birth to a son and she and Éomer named him Elfwine, meaning 'Elf-friend', in remembrance of the Dark Elves who had saved her. Aragorn and Arwen had a son and named him Eldarion. And then war came once more to Gondor and Aragorn took an army south to fight against the Haradrim.

Prince Erchirion commanded Gondor's heavy cavalry in that war and achieved stunning successes with the aid of a new weapon and tactic; hand crossbows, triggered just before the charge drove home, then released to hang on thongs while the sword was drawn. When the Haradrim employed their tactic of turning and loosing shafts as they withdrew they were mown down, struck in their vulnerable rear, while the cavalry of Gondor were protected by shields and by barding on the horses' heads and chests. Heruwine, now a Marshall of the Mark, and Guthred, commanding an éored, also distinguished themselves in the conflict. And the Haradrim were utterly defeated and sued for peace on terms favourable to Gondor in the extreme.

Legolas founded his settlement in Ithilien. Mirkwood was no longer a realm of peril, becoming again the Great Greenwood, and the spiders became smaller, less numerous, and far less of a threat. Even so Legolas had no trouble attracting followers to populate his small realm.

Gimli's father died, then Prince Imrahil, and then Éomer. Lothíriel survived him by some years but she was a shadow of her former self. Erchirion died. Éowyn died and then, some years later, Faramir followed her.

All this time Legolas continued to seek for traces of the Dark Elves, for clues as to where the world to which they had travelled lay, and for some way to follow after them. He had no success. Eventually he had to admit that his only chance of a reunion with Laelryne was if she had indeed been re-bodied in Valinor. And now Aragorn, too, was showing signs of age…

Then the time came when Aragorn chose to accept the Doom of Men and depart from the world while he still possessed all his senses. Arwen departed soon after. And Legolas was freed from the vow that had helped him to resist the sea-longing. The only thing now that could keep him from sailing to the West was the possibility that Laelryne had suffered the fate she feared and been returned to her own world's version of the Afterlife to face perpetual imprisonment. And still Legolas had learned nothing that could either confirm her fate or give him a way to, if necessary, free her.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"I feel as if I am abandoning Laelryne," Legolas said to Gimli, "but the Sea pulls at me more each day. Resisting the pull is becoming almost a physical pain. And I have made no further progress in my investigations since the day we left my father's halls a hundred and twenty years ago."

"She may well be in the Undying Lands," Gimli said, "and, if so, you're wasting time. And who is to say that it is not possible to travel to her world from Valinor anyway? Elves may be forbidden to return to Middle Earth, these days – since Glorfindel did it, anyway – but I've never heard about any prohibition on going elsewhere. And there will be Elves there who date back to that long-ago time. You might find someone who helped them pack their bags for the journey, and waved them farewell – even, perhaps, one who cast the spell that opened the gateway but did not himself pass through. There is yet hope."

"True," said Legolas. "Very well, I shall build a ship. Will you come with me, friend Gimli?" The Dwarf, by this time, was visibly showing his age. His hair and beard were streaked with grey and his joints creaked on cold mornings.

"I'm not sailing on any ship you build," said Gimli. "It will look like a bow and travel only to the bottom of the sea."

Legolas laughed. "Well, when I say I shall build it, I mean that I will call for shipwrights from the Grey Havens and work only at their direction," he said.

"In that case, lad," said Gimli, "aye, I'll come. I will see the Lady Galadriel again – and I still have an axe to deliver to that lass who fought on after they cut off her hands."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

And so the ship was built, and provisioned, and filled up with crew and passengers. Most of those who had followed Legolas to Ithilien chose also to follow him to the West. And two unexpected additions turned up.

"We had thought to stay on as Lords of Imladris," said Elladan, or possibly Elrohir, "but it is fading and becoming depressing. Our father has gone, and now our sister, and there is nothing for us in Middle Earth any longer. We would see our mother again."

"And we remembered the tale you told of the warrior maid Cierre," the other twin continued. "We would like to see her for ourselves – and, if she is lost in the prison of which you spoke, there may be a passage there from Valinor. If so then our swords could aid you in the rescue."

"You are most welcome, my friends," said Legolas. "I hope that such a rescue will not be necessary, and that Laelryne and her people will be awaiting us in Valinor, but it is as well to be prepared for any eventuality. And I could ask for no better sword-arms than yours at my side. We sail within the month."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Legolas felt his heart in his mouth as the ship approached the moorings of the port of Avallónë on Tol Eressëa. Who, if anyone, would be there to greet him? And what were the protocols of arrival, anyway? He had only the practices he had observed in the ports of Gondor to guide him. Were there equivalents of Gondor's Customs Officers, inspecting arriving ships, checking for contraband? Presumably he, and his people, would need to find an inn in which to stay until they could acquire some more permanent accommodation. Cirdan's people had informed him that new arrivals from Middle Earth were required to dock at Avallónë but, beyond that, they knew no more than he did. Really the Valar should have provided some sort of guidebook.

Legolas didn't even know if the re-bodied dwelt in the same place as those who arrived by way of the Straight Road. Perhaps he should have asked Glorfindel, the only Elf who might possibly have known, but it hadn't occurred to him and, of course, it was much too late now.

"Father!" cried Elladan, or Elrohir. Even after the long sea voyage in their company Legolas had not discovered any reliable way of telling the twins apart. Sometimes he could tell by the clothes they were wearing but they were quite capable of exchanging clothes deliberately to cause confusion.

"And Mother!" added the other twin. "Oh, it has been so long!"

Well, at least there would be someone there who knew Legolas and Gimli. They had never met Celebrian but Elrond would make sure they were not left bewildered and stranded. Then Legolas heard one of his people crying out with joyous recognition, followed the Elf's gaze, and saw someone he knew who had been slain in the Battle of the Five Armies. It seemed that the re-bodied might indeed inhabit Tol Eressëa – or, at least, if they lived elsewhere they travelled here to meet incoming ships.

There were no Customs Officers, or any similar officials; once the ship was tied up, and the gangplanks lowered, the passengers and crew were free to go ashore in their own time. Of course no-one could reach Valinor without the permission of the Valar and the restrictions imposed in human ports were unnecessary here. Elladan and Elrohir raced down the gangplank, the moment it was in place, and almost threw themselves at their father and their mother.

Legolas did not hurry. Let the twins have their reunion with their parents first. He took up a single bag, containing the things he would need for an overnight stay in an inn, and left the rest of his possessions in his cabin. Then, struck by a sudden whim, he slung Laelryne's sword over his back. Gimli, perhaps less trusting, loaded himself up with a heavy backpack. They held back while some of the others, who had recognised loved ones on the quay, hurried ahead. Then they walked, at a leisurely pace, down the gangplank.

"Ah, it's good to be back on solid ground," Gimli said. He planted his feet firmly and looked around. "Well, I suppose we'd best find an inn or something, lad. Let the twins have some time with their parents before we start pestering Lord Elrond."

"Yes, that would be for the best," Legolas agreed. He joined Gimli in looking around; the Dwarf's view was obscured by the much taller Elves all around and it was Legolas who stood the best chance of spotting something suitable. He saw a building, not far away, that appeared to be an inn or a tavern. "This way, I think," he said, and set off.

"Excuse me! Let us past, please! Make way!" Legolas heard a female voice calling out, as someone thrust her way through the crowd, but it was not a voice he recognised and he paid it no attention. Then he began to feel a sense of… excited anticipation. And then he heard singing.

"_Ghil il chu 'sohna,_

_Kyorl ilta alure harl l'slyannen,_

_Nixm'io morfeth dosst xukuth ju'zhas_..."

And it was coming from the sword on his back. He had no idea what the words meant but the singing, surely, could mean only one thing. Lothíriel's prayer to the Valar, all those years ago, had been answered.

The crowds parted to reveal first a fairly tall _elleth_ with deep brown skin, clad from head to foot in green leather, clearing the way for her much smaller companion.

And there she was. Laelryne, small compared with those around her but eye-catching nonetheless, smiling in a way that lit up her whole face. She wore a gown of pale turquoise and had bangles of gold on her wrists.

"Lady Laelryne," he said, taking her hand.

"Lord Elrond tells me you are Legolas Greenleaf," Laelryne replied. "I did not hear your name when last we met."

"Legolas Thranduilion at your service," Legolas said, dipping his head.

"Laelryne Phaundal at yours," answered Laelryne. There was a moment of awkward silence. Gimli cleared his throat.

"_Fridj tsoss ukta, dos wael_," the taller Drow, Cierre, said. Her tone indicated that she was urging Laelryne to a course of action.

"You should just kiss her, lad," Gimli suggested almost simultaneously.

Cierre grinned at Gimli. "That is what I just told my Jabbress," she said. "You are his second, as I am hers, are you not?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Gimli, "but I've wielded my axe beside the lad in battle quite a few times. And, speaking of axes, I've brought yours for you, lass."

Laelryne looked up at Legolas. "You will have to bend down," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Or shall I send Cierre to find a box on which I can stand?"

Legolas delayed no longer. He bent, took her in his arms, and planted his lips on hers. And the kiss told him that, whatever the arrangements for life in the Undying Lands might be, he would be happy here.

**The End**

**Glossary of Drow Phrases**

• '_Ghil il chu 'sohna_' = 'Here she comes again'

• '_Kyorl ilta alure harl l'slyannen_' = 'See her dance beneath the stars'

• '_Nixm'io morfeth dosst xukuth ju'zhas_' = 'She'll make your heart leap'

• '_Fridj tsoss ukta, dos wael_' = 'Just kiss him, you fool'

• '_elleth_' (Sindarin) = 'female Elf'

• '_fëa/fëar_' (Sindarin) = 'soul/souls'

• '_yéni_' (Sindarin) = 'periods of 144 years'


End file.
